So, autumn. It has most decidedly arrived. At the start of last week we were basking in temperatures in the upper 20s but by the end of the week we were getting used once more to the mid- to low teens. At this time of the year a poem I had to study at school always comes into my mind: Keats' Ode to Autumn. You probably know the opening lines:
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,For some reason, I had it fixed in my mind that the poem was actually a sonnet - despite the title! We most certainly did study the sonnet form and even now I can tell you that a sonnet is a poem of 14 lines of iambic pentameters. Which means, I think, that each line should go di da di da di da di da di da. There is also a convention about the rhyming, these being abba abba cde cde (I think). I know I was intrigued by the form of these poems, which I decided must be extremely difficult to compose. I tried my hand on more than one occasion but all I can remember is the opening of one:
Close bosom friend of the maturing sun.
Tis autumn. The armies of the seasonsYeah, I know - but I was nobbut a teenager at the time.
Intermingle. Summer retreats, winter
Advances her probing, dead'ning squadrons.
I have already picked several pounds of blackberries from the jungle that was at one time my vegetable plot. The apples will not be long - and there are plenty of them.