'Mellow Fruitlessness'

This town at this time of year
The cold sun strikes the wind blown street
Red mulch muffles the click of heels
On pavement under painted trees
And there's that quality of light
That makes you sad and beautiful
On this leaf-dappled patch of grass
As you sit on that cracked green chair,
It's enough to drive me to god
Behemoth clouds above our heads
The easy silences we share
The cobwebs spun from captured sun
The ivy tendrils choke the beech,
I catch snatches of your speech
And 'we are dying, Egypt, dying'
And the sunlight on this garden
(And your eyelashes) is fleeting
I can hide hard words and feelings

This town at this time of year:
I could even forgive you
If that's what would keep you here.