Full of dreams for the Autumn boy
Seeing a figure of pure joy erupt from a window and down a bannister
Wearing clothes which don’t reflect the season
The Autumn boy watches his words as taciturn clouds report his mood
A crow cawing for attention, from this he will learn a lesson
For all those times walking into school, perhaps not in the greatest spirit
He looks back now, rum and ginger in hand, realising it wasn’t all that bad
The Autumn boy eats a quick meal around the corner of a loud street
He sits away from the flurry of people and heat
As his eyelids droop, he can’t stay awake
On the walk home he peers into car windows
Seeing his reflection in them
It has rained, and the musty smells of evergreens elope with his nostrils
Sensing that there are good times to come
For the Autumn boy has surely won
By Samuel Fawcett
Parisian Poetry 