Greacen015

A London Septembet

Slabs of grey light fa11 earthward
On paths brown-carpeted and crisp,
That crackle underfoot at every step.
Autumn rides back a gold-red, sober queen.
Fall that we know so well, yet so endlessly new!
We talk and walk under a temperate sun,
Wishing for short silence; absence of fear,
If only for a time; a cooling of the hot blood
Of violence, wanting authority only to leave us in peace
To stroll and chat under the leaf-thinned trees,
Happy are children playing outside time's shutters -
And mindless, too, of our blood-red hands.