Seasons Before Words - a poem for moments of change



A drop catches the tip of my ear,

I get goosebumps as it trickles down

Onto the orange leaf I draw near.

The colours, swimming in yellow,

Make me feel warm and mellow,

And I gaze out the window as Lady Conker

Undresses her sleepy limbs into darker brown.

I watch her swiftly sway all year round,

But I find this is when she changes most.

I see the squirrels take away her spiky

Jewellery, and store it for next year’s ball

So she may rest, until summers’ gentle call.


Oh, but now the sky is dark again,

And Lady Conker is naked in the rain.

I miss her, but I know this is how she sleeps

Safe and sound under Winter’s sheet, she does not weep.

Mr. Wind whistles his way into my bedroom.

He’s sullen when I ask him to leave.

He too leaves with a tantrum

(Like when Dad tells me off),

Thumping against window panes,

He marks the glass with freezing stains.

One of my toes slips out of woollen slipper,

I forget how fast I grow, like the trees outside.

It’s getting colder and darker now.

So, I huddle up, cocooned in silky silence,

And remember: sometimes it’s best

To retreat; to remain warm.

Like the sleeping bulb

In cool frosty earth.


As I wake, I run to the garden.

I feel the faint tickle on my feet,

The prickly grass,

I dare not eat.

(Only when Mum is looking away)

Fresh and glimmering

Under the sunlight,

Lady Conker stretches out, glowing.

Meanwhile, steady Western Breeze combs her hair,

Also cooling the drooping warmth

Of thick Mr. Sluggish Air

Snoozing on the porch.



Next, I wiggle my nose

Into the cool bead that falls

Out of this years’ flower -

The very first in a while.

Soon there will be many

Decorating Lady Conker’s locks.

Sweet scents that make my sister

Sneeze, whilst I laugh and smile,

And watch the busy bees,

Bumbling in haste across the lawn.

The scents of life a-new

Climb out of yawning soil.

And on the grass, across

The backyard, sits the dew

That marks Mme. Morning’s hour.

Underneath, all the colours

Long dormant

Still breathe;


And, in this way,

I breathe too.




By Louder Than The Storm writer, Nina Purton.


#NINA_PURTON

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