Lady HedgerowThe chilling breeze rips off the leaves
in flurries they keep falling
poor Lady Hedgerow's golden dress
is being ripped to shreds
To strip her gown this time of year
is thoughtlessness appalling
as it leaves her standing shivering,
grey and naked, in distress.
'Twas not so many months ago
with sun so full of promise
She donned chemise of palest green
and stretched her arms in splendour
preparing for the Summer Ball
in clothing bright and honest
with thoughts of days so clear and gay
and evenings warm and tender
The Bryony and Honeysuckle
clad her thighs with stockings fine
and wild Hop clambered over all
to vainly make her bonnet
but having fruited, they no longer
care to make her pretty
and a stocking soon is fallen
when there is no garter on it.
So, where the romance? Where the love?
Where the lasting passion?
What of all the twittering birds
that round her shoulders flew?
Dowdy now, she feels the cold
no longer in high fashion
the rime adorns her shoulders
and her fingertips are blue.
So sleep, my Lady Hedgerow, sleep
and let this Winter season
pass you by unnoticed,
just as clouds care naught for me
The birds will sing when come the Spring
and wake you shall with reason
to dress again to cheer my soul
and render spirits free.
© Rob King 2012