In a fit of rage to turn the page and into Autumn black

To cast the Die through the Rye in sleeping sunlight rain

To forsake romance and take a chance to stand tall and free

To say the unsayable and do exactly how one feels

(Clock strikes 5 AM with willing hands, half a smile and another sleepless night

A pale orange glow illuminates dirty shades from streetlights lacking 

The sound of women singing ancient Irish within my head

And I cutting turf lying on this bed)

In a fit of rage to turn the page and into Autumn black

To my heart and soul for it does know you might not come back

Into the fray and my blessed ways another painful fact

But it is I who turns the wheel upon your rusty rack: tighter, tighter and tighter

And now, you can relax.

~ G McK