Christmas, and there’s
No snow.
Rain runnels and
Banshees howl about the house.
Trees lurch, screaming,
Torrents teeming,
Roads dammed
Across the land.
Close to New Year, and there’s
No snow. No icicles.
Nationwide: the floods.
And on we go to
See the wraith of
Seasons gone,
The phantom here,
The ghost of those to come.
New Year, and there’s
No snow. No icicles. No frost.
Savage spectre of what is lost.
Seasons change.
Extremes occur:
Spring’s like summer
Used to be. Summer’s short.
Autumn comes early.
And so it goes from year to year
The seasons change, become austere.
Those who live with constant jeers
Say this: until we do something,
Until we care,
It’s our world, our earth,
Whose fate
We share.
Polly Robinson © 2012
I am posting this for Claudia’s Change & Turns at dVerse Poets
