To Autumn (with apologies to John Keats)

spider-on-brambleSeason of mists and mellow fruitfulness!

Close bosom-friend of autumn fashion shows

Conspiring with avid retailers

To load and bless their weary coffers

Depleted by the sleepy August trade.


Who hath not spied the myriad creepy spiders

Hanging in sticky wait for heedless prey:

Flies and all unwary human passers

Raptly enwrapping them in legs and web?


Where is the carefree summer? Ay, now gone!

The sunburnt shoulders, sweat and skimpy trunks

Give way to nature’s bounty :

Powdery mildew, mould, potato blight.

Think not of balmy evenings, barbecues, bare legs,

But face the fast-approaching dreaded advent

Of long dark winter tights.