Sunday Poem

Summer was always a liar
.

June

At the far outpost
of the Empire of Light, the
bugle sounds retreat.

………. pale moon in a black sky,
………. intense, solitary. aloof.
………. moon-lovers, silver with longing,
………. stand hushed in the driveway
………. before going in

now the sun scatters the old gold
of late summer about the garden
how lovely here seems
with all its busyness and beauty,
yet, the ghost of a moon hang
in the blue morning sky

………. As in an hour glass not long before
……….
it wants turning, the grains of sand
……….
seem to move faster, faster, so
……….
quicken the days of August.
……….
Summer was always a liar with
……….
its June promises of forever.

you think back to childhood
when the days of summer seemed
endless, and time long enough

the school bell rang
and you woke with a jolt
into the mortality of arithmetic

Nils Peterson
from The Sandhill Review
.

Like what you're reading? Don't keep it to yourself!
Share on Facebook
Facebook
Tweet about this on Twitter
Twitter
Share on Reddit
Reddit
Share on LinkedIn
Linkedin
Email this to someone
email