Wash-Bowl Change
One season closes.
A glorious autumn slides toward winter.
The high blue sky switches places with
a cover of grey, close clouds.
Sunlight, bright and vivid
exploding colour out of every object,
leaves us for more fortunate places.
We remain, almost trapped,
in a dull, grey light,
morose and oppressive.
The free spirits of this sunshine centre
are quick to flip. They are not used to the
broody, moody
closed in feeling.
They object, complain
and play up for each other.
Within this wash-bowl change of season
they squabble and fight, allowing their minor irritations
to take over.
They are overrun.
The place sounds like a chicken coop, where this crowded cage of rats
await the return of the well-loved sun.
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Hi, thanks for reading my poetry and thanks for your comment.