Sun filters through a sky of grey
Skeletal weeds stand stark upright
Cobblestones reflect the light.
The Commune workers sweat their tasks
By raking dead leaves in the parks
Nature, in abeyance, sleeps
Though an owl his lonely vigil keeps...
Gutters drip on paving stone
A gentle, whistling wind makes moan
A ray of sunshine warms my cheek
I hear small children in my street...
It's back-to-school time - parents wait
In clusters at the wrought-iron gate
As tiny creatures, wrapped up warm
Rush towards them in a swarm.
Though January picks up pace
The festive season leaves a trace
As prostrate trees, of baubles shorn,
Await the binmen in the morn!
(c) Poet in the woods 2019
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