TO AUTUMN - NO WAY
“Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness”
Was how John Keats extolled the Autumntide.
But I’m afraid I like the season less,
For next comes winter that I can’t abide
It’s not for nothing that they call it ‘Fall’.
Those falling leaves are nothing but a pain.
You sweep them up then, next day, sweep again.
And normally it rains as I recall.
But, worst of all, it brings back thoughts of Eve,
The one who was the apple of my eye.
It was October when she chose to leave
Without a word of explanation why.
So sorry Mr. Keats to be a bore.
“To Autumn” doesn’t cut it any more.
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