November Heritage Poem by Martin TURNER

A yellow sky has curled around
pumpkins, fireworks and poppy fragments
for a fortnight and now brews coffee
and saffron on a plate of thrush-egg blue.
On clouded hills youngsters
are bravely making their way.

These moods imbue our weathers,
a cradle for genes and religions.
The noise of history is switched off.
Infinitely far above, a plane
like a needle reflects a last light.
We unfold in warm hope.