Cloud-shadows

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