Of Summer Almost Spent...

 I felt a sudden, strange kinship to these bowed blooms...

The art of summer almost spent

Teases the heart with discontent 

For in its vent of green and gold

We sense anew what none can hold

…and often pause, soft torn between

The laws of hope and what has been

Past’s dynasty of dormant years

Like empires built on sweat and tears

The salt of it still stings the tongue

…we didn’t feel, when we were young

How suave love’s raw bravado seals

Life’s Brigadoon to yester-reels

Or how the touch of thought can stir

Remembrances of him or her

Before the roar of stilly night

Or slip of day drew them from sight

The blue sky wears fretwork of green

…soon autumn’s red and gold will wean

The tree of easy lilt and sigh

To silhouettes of days gone by

The art of summer almost spent

Becomes a burnished testament

Of laughter-laden echoes strewn

Like husks on a lost afternoon

© Janet Martin

Wishing you a Saturday full of wonder in unexpected places:)