End of Summer
It’s said that one alone don’t make a Summer
but when there’s none at all, is that when Summer’s gone?
And when there’s nothing up there but a shimmer
of dust from the desert superheated by the sun;
and when the sheds and barns remain in silence
from April to October; when radiance that shone
on midge-full fields no longer flicks on mindless
scything wings and sideslippings ...
Saturday 15th June 2024 9:26 am
Recent Comments
John Coopey on HERE'S TO THE GREENERY
4 hours ago
John Coopey on Sister Doughty
4 hours ago
TOM MERTON on Oates; Antarctic Terra Nova expedition team member 1910-1912
5 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Remembrance? Forget It!
5 hours ago
TobaniNataiella on Close Escape
5 hours ago
Stephen Gospage on Through The Storm
7 hours ago
Stephen Gospage on Rhubarb, Rhubarb, Rhubarb [song version]
7 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Rhubarb, Rhubarb, Rhubarb [song version]
8 hours ago
Pragya Pal on What’s Up?
9 hours ago
M.C. Newberry on 'Great poetry endures': national newspaper editorial praises eco-anthology
10 hours ago