Autumn’s mood swung, 

Like some outta whack pendulum – 

In an old grandfather clock.

Most days,  she’d tell me, 

She felt ever so slightly, 

Off kilter,  as if time itself,

Had passed her by. 

Over coffee – 

She’d take deep puffs, 

On an old woodbine, 

And when I asked – 

Where she felt it went wrong, 

She’d wonder where it went right. 

At night we listen to the rain & old blues, 

And she’d strip down into – 

Something a little less comfortable, 

Her own skin. 

Kevin Brown © 01.10.2016