There is the sun, pale but slowly lifting
through smoky shreds of tangled cloud,
and overhead the moon becalmed and fading.
Such tender days give no sign of easing,
though captive leaves sigh for the clench of frost
and fumbling bees are somnolent and loitering.
Beneath my feet, the luscious grass still springingnear scarlet hips already ripe, yet
summer’s breeze is warm and softly lingering.
In truth there has to be an ending,but turning leaves drift one by one –
so calm the fall; so strong the sap still rising.
Published in 'The Dawntreader', Summer 2016