God damn the meek, obliging sunlight,
a fading glow from dusk’s pink skies,
that lies down still beneath the twilight,
then falls in sleep, and rests its eyes,
in tame resistance to the new born night,
and soft, hushed voiceless lullabies.
She acquiesces in surrender,
to the birth of season’s change,
as thickset clouds disturb the splendour,
of summer’s brightest, emerald planes,
now touched by rainfall fallen tender,
a landscape doused by fresh tear stains.
How we would long to see the summer,
berate the autumn’s whispered cool,
and see it rage with prideful rapture,
in place of tearful, strangled mewl,
but still its brightness gently tempers,
when met with infant winter’s rule.
Lewis is a freelance writer and blogger based in Birmingham, UK. He also has a passion for creative writing, and has featured in magazines throughout the UK, U.S. and Oceania.