Poetry: IV

From A Tim­bered Choir (Coun­ter­point).
–Wen­dell Berry

The sum­mer ends, and it is time
To face anoth­er way. Our theme
Reversed, we har­vest the last row
To store against the cold, undo
The gar­den that will be undone.
We grieve under the weak­ened sun
To see all earth­’s green foun­tains dried,
And fall­en all the works of light.
You do not speak, and I regret
This down­fall of the good we sought
As though the fault were mine. I bring
The plow to turn the shattering
Leaves and bent stems into the dark,
From which they may return. At work,
I see you leav­ing our bright land,
The last cut flow­ers in your hand.

Cyn is a proud Mommy & Mémé, professional geek, avid reader, fledgling coder, enthusiastic gamer (TTRPGs), occasional singer, and devoted stitcher.
Posts created 4241

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Related Posts

Begin typing your search term above and press enter to search. Press ESC to cancel.

Back To Top