Autumn Accents
Are on parade.
It’s autumn down in Dorset,
Accents are on parade,
Some broad as boards they waltz,
Down on the esplanade.
Ghosts appear in autumn,
It’s a regular occurrence,
History walks down the planks,
Left-right in reoccurrence.
Some come from the diggings,
Rediscovered in bleached bones,
Scraped back and revealed,
Others lie in ancient tombs.
If you’re looking for discovery,
And wish to dig up the past,
Come strolling down the esplanade,
You’re bound to make it last.
By noon the ghosts will disappear,
Just as the sun comes out,
And the wind picks up from the east,
And little’s left to doubt.
In between the moments,
What separates the hours,
The lighthouse winks to sailors,
From aught the ring of flowers.
In the sky the answers,
Are written in the wind,
Some there to understand,
But impossible to rescind.
I watched you walk the esplanade,
When summer disappeared,
In cool autumn mists,
Again, you reappeared.
©
David Rudder
2023
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