From This Window : A Year

Throughout an emerald summer there had been
A citadel of leaves to guard my view;
But angry storms of autumn left but a few
With wintry fells beyond now sharply seen.

The silhouettes of trees stood black and clean,
Announcing loud that spring is overdue;
At last haphazard leaves, appealing, new,
A fleeting gauze of light and pinprick green.

And now so soon the bright and summer scene,
Above the heavy trees a painful blue;
A drowsy window seat, no tasks to do,
I watch as ripening apples glow and lean.

A transient year and yes, the sun has shone;
But a year of finite life forever gone.

?

John Scrivens