Late Summer Sonnet

Late summer's sun has baked the grass to brown

Late Summer’s Sun

Late summer’s sun has baked the grass to brown.
The days grow shorter with each passing day,
Soon, autumn’s chill will make the leaves fall down.
All of this aching beauty will decay.

And yet I love the shadows’ slanting trace,
The once green grain gone golden in its rows,
And how I love the lines etched in your face.
It’s funny, as love ripens how it grows.

The number of our days we do not know.
No sleeper knows if he will ever wake.
So come, let’s join above, between, below.
My dear, let’s cause our fragile clay to quake.
Let us make love as if it’s our last go.
Let us embrace like dawn will never break.


NOTES:  It’s not really late summer yet, but it feels like it.  It has been hot and dry, giving us the sense of late August when July hasn’t even ended.

The seasons seen to come and go more quickly of late.  Perhaps I’m paying closer attention. Perhaps I realize more summers now lie behind me than still ahead.

Something in the air caused me to pull this sonnet out of the vault today.  I snapped the photo on my late afternoon walk.

 

 

Spring haiku

Early spring -- a great day for a walk ... and poetry

Pink trees everywhere,
So perfect, what could go wrong?
Uh oh … wait … a-choo!


NOTES:  We’re having a late spring here in western Washington.  Cold weather and rain has suppressed the buds and tree pollen that usually afflict me from March 1 to March 30 like clockwork.

I thought, perhaps, I was going to somehow avoid my alder and cedar tormentors this spring.  Silly me.  This week, the rain paused, the temperature rose, and the pollen bloomed.