The Fall

That first lone leaf twirling slowly to the ground The first casualty in the war of this season. One swallow does not a summer make That one leaf shows what is to come. Soon it will joined by so many of its comrades Victims of the insidious sniper of the fall. The scalpel of the East wind cuts through The softness summer supplied. Flowers fading, the absence of bird song Both signalling the entombment on the way. Hills cleanly etched against a pale blue sky Coldly carved in the brittle brightness Sunlight with all the warmth of a stepmother's smile Draining the goodness of the moment The chill of decay portends death In that illusory cheating glint Skeletal trees, bare fields, lowering skies Icy frost and thick blankets of snow. Some will not live to witness The ritual of resurrection But come it will The earth shaking off its shroud Then there will peep out The shy green shoots Prelude to the glories and glamour of summer With its heady scents, rich colours and bright song. This yearly drama plays out its four acts To let all know everything has its season. Depending upon where you start It can be comedy, tragedy or farce