God’s palette, it seemed,
had not much to spare,
for the sky was painted a monotone blue.
All through the trees,
was a still, silent air,
standing in wait like a crowd for the Tube.
They all hung like towels on a rail,
stood like guards at the gate.
They whisper with their leafy tongues
to let me know it’s getting late.
The bird houses now vacated
as summer bids farewell.
But my smile will not be faded
so long as I’ve stories to tell.