Poppycock and pine trees replace summer
haystacks and alfalfa fields that teem with titmice
long into summer while boys grow
into manhood and women long for love.
Cumulus clouds billow up from my mountain
laced landscape, and I turn inward as the dews
begin to freeze in the early morning hours
of this autumn transformation.
How is it, I think, that the season,
like poor Persephone stolen away
from the home she loved,
can capture me so fully?
I turn to you, poet laureate and pal
To make sense of the inward unraveling,
the inescapable crack up of that summer
joyfulness and sunshine bliss
And you tell me, in that way of yours,
that peace is in the moment and that
power is in the words, and that tonight,
of all nights, I should relax and enjoy the stars.
So I look up, and sure enough, the moon
has come out to play. Oh, Moon, how kind of you
to remind me that we are here together
and what I see is sunlight coming from you.
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