they think it is still summer
with this sunny day and
bucket, sea and sand
they picnic, walk torso nu
down the hot streets
fishing nets in hand,
but I know that these black shadows
that cross my path, that bramble
stretching its reddened hands,
that plum tree dripping heavy fruit
that summer is past.
solstice now 2 months gone
swallows sing their last song
a butterfly flaps lazily
dupped by nectar as the honey bee
all nature poised on this yearly cusp
to plunge us into dark cold nights
if we stopped and thought at all
we'd knowthe cuckoo no longer calls
nights stay only til 9 oclock
and morning light reluctantly crawls
from its bed and climbs the sky
fooling us with its still hot rays
that these are still but summer days.
Amen Copyright L. Ivison
