God damn the meek, obliging sunlight,
a fading glow from dusk’s pink skies,
that lies down still beneath the twilight,
then falls in sleep, and rests its eyes,
in tame resistance to the newborn night,
and soft, hushed voiceless lullabies.
She acquiesces in surrender,
to the birth of season’s change,
as thickset clouds disturb the splendour,
of summer’s brightest, emerald planes,
now touched by rainfall fallen tender,
a landscape doused by fresh tear stains.
How we would long to see the summer,
berate the autumn’s whispered cool,
and see it rage with prideful rapture,
in place of tearful, strangled mewl,
but still its brightness gently tempers,
when met with infant winter’s rule.
Lewis Humphries is a freelance writer from Birmingham, UK. He also has more than 80 individual publications of poetry and short fiction since 2006, and continues to write creatively in his spare time.