“Already the iron door of the north
Stanley Kunitz’s poem – the End of Summer
Clangs open: birds, leaves, snows
Order their populations forth,
And a cruel wind blows”
today we walk away from summer I dislike long goodbyes this though was still too brief an encounter - June melted hearts and July the tarmac so that brows became rimed with salt crystals in the weather-glass suddenly misted up - and along August's arable fringe scarlet pimpernels turned reclusive after much unseasonable maturity the ultimate departure of Aestas has arrived seaside holiday trains are withdrawn arriving on the platform now, school children uniformed and stampeding around in brown suitcases with travel labels already unsticking soon to be dusting themselves aloft I turn to see leaf and litter travelling up and down the windswept lines to elsewhere
first of Autumn’s poems to put in the Poetry Pantry
PoetryPix 
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