October

My eyes first focussed
In October sunshine
Lighting the pale blonde fields
Whose stubble stubbornly remembered
Harvest time.

Robins
Practised their winter tunes
More sweet, more wistful
Than fierce jockeyings of spring.
Slow–winged, slow–talking rooks went over
Hundreds together
To their companionable roost.
The harvest moon
Cocked a benevolent eye.
Hollies made ready for Christmas.

Sober beginning to a sober life.
But to this day
Every October brings
A sense of sharpened focus
— Redirected light.