The air is sweet with dust and heat
The rod is golden-crowned
The ditch bewitched with bloom and twitch
On summer’s stomping ground
The creek is parched, heaven blue-starched
Above the flagging trees
And all among the flower-throng
We hear the drone of bees
The distant ridge is like a bridge
That leads to Never-land
Its trees are blue, the hills are too
Upon its foreign strand
The mist that drapes hazy landscapes
Is kissed with amethyst
The sluggish stream bids us to dream
Before its gleam untwists
The paradise of summer lies
In scattered disrepair
The tattered frond, the tired pond
The garden stripped of fare
Earth is a hall of almost fall
A sweep of sleepy sighs
Where wall to wall its bean fields sprawl
Like golden butterflies
© Janet Martin
I like this one. I think it belongs in the book of your best poems that you are going to write one day.
ReplyDeleteI'm touched by your words. Thank-you!
ReplyDelete