Autumn

Match day crowds of fallen angels

gather against the red brick lines

built with trapped bubble and twines,

congregating in sheltered corners,

glowing embers from another age.

some arbours that are still populated,

flitter with great flocks of gold,

still tethered, but soon to flight

behind the public park rails

wet barked trunks of maples

stand twisted between western

winds and seductive suns;

glistening shields of iron,

ranked and filed

against the winter ruling

there is no room now for ornament

nor leaf,

life, held tight in shielded candle-buds

while fallen comrades lie freely,

soon to resume their sidereal trip.

©Copyright Niall OConnor 2014