Joy-shapes

Who can explain the shape of its cup?

These moments of joy that we hold up

To our Maker; as we dance and laugh

On summer’s tangled after-math

Even the chill wind cannot dull

The song in our heart and mouth; thankful

Thankful for the golden walnut tear

Marking the close of another year

Thankful for duty, never-ending

For the colors of farewell softly blending

With nature’s response of mute, barren trees

Stoking the moan of the wandering breeze

Thankful, yes, even for the aching sigh

Spawned by love and the tear in our eye

Who can define its measure of worth?

Humble design;  startling treasures of earth

Shaped in a smile, or the driving rain

As we dream from the dry side of the window-pane

Shaped by the leaf dangling from a limb, brave

Before spiraling, drifting to its umber-musk grave

Or else, by the madrigal of bronzed corn

As it rustles; once emerald, now brittle, forlorn

Shaped by the reaper bent on filling his sheaf

With the scattered remnant of sun-flower grief

What is the shape of summer-end joy?

Of bittersweet, beautiful autumn alloy

Of moment-drops melting away soundlessly  

In prelude to the music of memory

© Janet Martin