Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Thought's While Lying Beneath Summer's Tree



Too soon your fronds of gold will drift
To far-flung hinterlands
No dirge responds; tides rotate, shift
And strip your out-stretched hands
Sad, farewell words my mouth would form
Are solvent in the air
As July’s fingers, bronze, sun-warm
Seduce my idle tear

The passion of my former thought
Grows pensive now, and still
As parched strands of for-get-me-not
Adorn our favorite hill
Where long we lay beneath the spell
Of heaven-tenured June
The carpet leading to farewell
…a honey-suckle swoon

Beyond the sweep of azure deep
Unfathomed eons ‘mass
Ah, this must be where heaven keeps
Life’s moments as they pass
The bud that forged through wood-clenched limb
With verdant tendril-breath
Will soon adorn the somber scrim
Of life’s four-season hearth

The shadow lengthens on the field
Where harvest hangs its fruit
There is no detour; all must yield
To Nature’s absolute
And soon these fronds of gold will drip
Into that vaulted sphere
I feel the brush of July’s lip
Caress my errant tear

© Janet Martin


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