For Blind People
Early steps crisp the frosted grass
as the stripped hedge wet brushes a walker.
Sun warmed at noon she stops to eat,
tasting her picking of: berries and nuts.
Dusk’s cool touch strokes away the warmth,
rousing from sleep to spicey autumn scents,
pumpkin, Apples, Chrysanthemums
blent with wood smoke, moist earth, damp sweet decay.
A blackbird’s melancholy song is heard
as she surfs through the dry leafed wood.
Snatched from the last twigs by the rising wind,
dead leaves at her window tap, tap, tap.© Elisabeth Standen