Preparing to Leave

A red hydrangea in its brilliant dress

Apart from pinks and multicoloured blues

Calls me as I walk the garden path.

A last lone iris singing by the lake

Greets me as I near in dulcet tones.

In the torrid heat of summer flowers rest,

Even roses desultory blooms

Are muted in the white-hot heat of day.

O India, your jasmine-scented lands

Sweetly call this traveller of song.

Now autumn whispers in the tinted leaves

And the mornings of my life grow cool once more.