I turned the key, I broke it off and I crossed the Rubicon (Bob Dylan)

Photo by Yiqun Tang on Unsplash

Wie geht's?

Third and final installment (for a while) of my poetry from long ago and far away:

3. The moving sky

Autumn leaves bunch up against my window while
I spend some harmless time watching leaves falling;
falling into themselves - this way and that way, falling down.

The sun hides behind the tall wall, sending out
a sharp outline. Viewed by many down the years,
the painted wall is roughly textured, off-blue, aged.

Clouds are fairly skudding across the milky blue sky
but the breeze down here is mild,
so I sit in shirt sleeves on this May morning.

The red leaves stand in relief against the evergreen,
trying to be last hold outs of a summer eeking away.
There are many trees outside this window, beyond the wall: palm trees, pines, silver birches.

It's good to watch them shimmy gracefully
against the moving sky, accentuating the positive.

 

Love and peace - Wozza