In this peculiar dimmed copper dawn
the matins bell plays messenger
to the first ferreting fingers
of October's spying chill.
Terracotta pots unwatered, light,
totter and topple to worry whine
back and forth and back
against uneven riven slabs.
Laxton windfalls, squandered
like snookered reds are
poked by autumn gusts, to
scatter searching safety.
Here the peaceful rhythm changes, as
summer's calming croon cries out
then fades beneath the balladeering
snap of twigs and crackling leaves.
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