October

A grey dust bloom smears plump blue sloes,
fat rabbits and badgers sniff the damp and turn to go,
as nature’s balance rounds the leaves to russet gold,
so swallows, swifts and starlings gather to their fold.

Small children run and tease folk with their flickering punky flames,
now harvest’s in there’s time for apple-bobbing games,
the new wine, warm, tumultuous gurgles in the cask,
and newborn babies cry out loud as if to ask.

Wanes the opalescent milky cloudless afternoon,
ushering tired, marmalade sun to greet an early moon,
our tacky hands deep stained with blackberry blood,
we turn for home, with eager relish for our hedgerow food.

© Graham Sherwood