A scene of a wood with autumnal leaves; the low sun gleams through the trunks, directly into the camera lense, so most of the trees are silhouettes.

Poem | Leading Lady

Autumn has arrived, once more. It’s my favourite season, with all its rich colours, heady scents, warm melancholy and cosy clichés. 

To celebrate this equinox, I’ve penned another poem. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for the world’s performance this fall.

Leading Lady
The world, she gives her closing number
in gold, as leading ladies should;
framed in curtains, red with ember,
on staging of the darkest wood.
Rich music, thick as cocoa, bears
her voice which, much like cedar smoke,
coils through ever darkening air
and shrouds us in a woven cloak.
A song with sadness for the end
gives way to mellow contemplation,
and as the evening light descends
we rise and give this year’s ovation.
In one final, gleaming, sweeping bow
she glides like velvet from the light;
shaking what’s left from the bough,
she leaves her theatre veiled in white.

Read more of my poetry inspired by autumn


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