It is too much to paint in word
This death of gentian, larkspur, rose
As summer’s azure shutters close
Above earth’s mesa, tangled, blurred
Spring’s garden of dirt-dreams renewed
And bare feet dancing on its path
Boasts a bedraggled
aftermath
Of fantasies tarnished, subdued
Soon, soon this faithful soil will sleep
Pitied by Mother Nature, she
Blankets its girth, soft, lavishly
With leaf-song drifting to its deep
Ah, we have gleaned her moments bare
Morning-midnight-kaleidoscope
Fine mingling of despair and hope
Flings thought-endearments to the air
It is too much for scripted rhyme
Remembrance wields a two-edged blade
As all these precious hours are laid
Beneath the cloud-shadows of Time
© Janet Martin
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!