Autumn Crowds For A Second Coming
They'd been waiting, moments, minutes or hours
After their air-borne journey down.
Dressed in their finery:
Every conceivable shade, fashionable and seasonal:
Yellows, reds, golds and browns,
From bright amber to burnt umber,
They thronged the pavements and verges,
Feet deep and desperate to dance.
At my coming,
They came alive,
The crest of their Mexican Wave of colour
Constant at my window
No matter whether I speeded or slowed,
The more impetuous among them
Spilling onto the road behind me
Like some glorious wake,
Frantically rushing and racing to keep up:
Failing of course,
Gradually to scatter to the gutter,
There to await a second coming.