EARLY AUTUMN

By Philip Quirke

Wheat is in the drying bins.

oblong bales repose on stubble,                                 

await removal to the haggard.                       

Not a crow, this sultry afternoon.

By the river’s muddy meander

brown reeds bow before a humid breeze

which carries a scent of furze

in the strong aroma of coconut.

Leaves feel the sap slow,

shift the colour spectrum,

wait on the lustre of this time

when they will rust into gold.