Autumn never announces itself
No courtesy call just to say
'I will be there tomorrow'
Suddenly leaves are brown
Brown and dying, strewn
Across indifferent concrete ground
When schoolkids kick through
The debris of the season
To inattentive seats in lessons
When budding scholars stumble
Through freshers week floors
To gawp at dances of seduction
When workers sip in morning
Mists that accompany commutes
That siphon the days away
When retirees recline on
Benches they know will
Soon become icy thrones
We can only ruminate on
Youth once we have
Left it behind
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