End of Summer

Somehow the heat has been turned down
The trees are tipped with copper crown
Scurries of leaves come tumbling down
On tarmac street
There was mist this morning I could swear
Keats' mellow fruitfulness is near
Next week begins the new school year
Small joyful feet.

The traffic, which has lulled, will grow
The early trams will overflow
As back to work the masses go
With sun-kissed hair
The lucky ones recount their stay
In some exotic hideaway
But soon they’ll be engulfed in grey
Too stressed to care.

(c) Poet in the woods 2013