Autumn Sonnet Poem by Mark Heathcote

Hushed into a leafy tomfoolery
multi-coloured larva paths change in course
swirl in exaggerated bright beauty
they intrude with the commotion of a warhorse.

About to charge on the field of battle
pincer squeezed, they explore open valleys
with no notion of their slaughter, austral
they-must-amble conditioned by travel.

It's necessary; their expense should fall.
Once they've unattached all their greenery
mulched alongside the cemetery wall.
Love contains them for a while in bounty.

Who could be annoyed by their golden lustre?
Burning; falling in-their-splendour, amber.