A muted Autumn in the Domain, Sydney.
MARCH PAST
And so the world turns, yet, every year, the turning still astounds us,
As we compare our seasons and the weather that surrounds us.
So here is March and here we feel the bite has left the sun;
Day after day of 'English Summer' refreshes everyone.
While 'you' have shivered in the snow, we've broiled in summer heat,
And the gentleness of early Autumn's deliriously sweet.
The sun still glows, but later, and with a gentler light,
And everyone remarks on how they're sleeping cool at night.
In New South Wales, where I live, the trees are always green,
So our Autumn isn't brilliant, for few russet trees are seen.
This is my homesick time of year when I long for years gone by
When March meant sunny daffodils beneath a blustery sky.
A riot of Spring in London
And so the world turns every year, all the world is synchronised.
Yet every year we're comparing notes, and acting all surprised!
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STENCIL
No pen or pencil
Could better stencil
The patterns on the bark.
Each leaf outlining,
Against the shining,
In a perfect leaf-like mark.
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