When the southern wind starts to  blow

and  you  hear the mournful sound

of trains shunting on the siding before they go,

whether south,  east, north or west bound..

Then with dread, sad regret

I know another summer has passed..

Without intend, thought I begin to fret

for here winter is harsh, living becomes hard..

Gone are the sparkling, lazy days, sensuous nights

replaced by drab dullness, heavy darkness..

No more airy, weightless flights

of fancy, silly laughs, hyper happiness..

All that’s’ left is the hesitant, hope

of a new distant summer as on l grope…

Note: Like most people, I move into slow motion when the winter touches us with the first ominous signs …