For the most part, autumn's a gradualist -
oh, we'll get to the flames and the glory,
rages of soaked pages bowed on the stages;
but let's not forget the other four acts,
before sycamore seeds, dislodged in gusts,
that would hang on fast till some April day,
leave untimely their Saigon, their Kabul,
helicoptering off before fluttering hands
of their palmate leaves shall fall away, say;
before Verlaine's long sobs of violins come in,
it's mostly sit out in a jacket, stroll on
in a thicker shirt to keep your vitals warm,
as the odd character colours up here and there,
bitty-scratty, and a scattering to crunch underfoot -
among persistent greenery, a leery, berry passion.
Clean out the skin of a rose-hip and chew;
grab a crab-apple and sour your mouth,
when sunlight warms your mood but little else
in mischief of the 'nipping and (the) eager air'.
.....................
Verlaine wrote (loosely translated)
'the long sobs of the violins of autumn
wound my heart with monotonous languor'
The first three lines were code in 1944 for the Normandy Landings
' ... a nipping and an eager air' was observed on the battlements of Elsinore in Hamlet.
