A Surfeit of Autumn

 

autumn surfeit.jpg

 

It is not for a lack of love

That my heart is burdened,

But the surfeit;

 

Not from loss of dappled leaves

That the golden birches

Now must suffer:

 

The ochre patterns long to live.

But their pain has broadened

Their wait from summer.

 

No branch can hold that gold aloft,

The weight unbidden,

A hurtful summit;

 

And it is not for a lack of love

That my heart’s now burdened,

But the surfeit.

 

 

For Mum. 

 

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2 thoughts on “A Surfeit of Autumn

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