It had to be...a heart-and-soul Swansong!
Happy, happy, happy, happy
Last Day of Summer 2023
Your light that splays like amber glaze and bathes the earth in mellow mist...
Your wind-tossed bars where aster-stars twinkle like shattered amethyst...
Your lanes that wind, goldenrod lined, to lure us from the beaten track...
Your paradise for butterflies...
...and tousled wild-bloom bric-a-brac
Your pendulum of pear and plum drip-dripping from our lips and chins...
your brisker air that starts to wear the shriek of jay...
and honk of geese...
Your kitchen heat, pungent and sweet with basil, garlic, pickling spice
Your garden dish that makes me wish somehow, we could live each meal twice...
Your humble toil of mercy's spoil like contrails of an upward spark...
(a photo so we remember how tall the sweet corn grew this year!!!!)
Your orchard stroll that thrills the soul with apple-dappled dreams come true...
Your light that splays like amber glaze and bathes the earth in mellow mist
Your wind-tossed bars where aster-stars twinkle like shattered amethyst
Your garnet splash of mountain ash berries against backdrops of blue
Your orchard stroll that thrills the soul with apple-dappled dreams come true
Your heady blur of lavender, of marigold and cricket lays
Your subtle change as you estrange vistas of younger, summer days
Your pendulum of pear and plum drip-dripping from our lips and chins
A glockenspiel that starts to peal with farewell's reel as fall begins
Your lanes that wind, goldenrod lined, to lure us from the beaten track
Your paradise for butterflies, and tousled wild bloom bric-a-brac
Your hugs that war with tugs that roar with Bygone’s foregone victory
Your tango of longing and love, where mulled breeze strums the yellow tree
Your brisker air begins to wear the shriek of jay and honk of geese
And in our hearts a hunger starts to prepare us for your release
And the so-long, as your swansong suffuses morning, noon and night
Relinquishment sublimely rent with tender grief and sheer delight
Your kitchen heat, pungent and sweet with basil, garlic, pickling spice
Your garden dish that makes me wish somehow, we could live each meal twice
Your humble toil of mercy's spoil like contrails of an upward spark
Your melodies that waft and tease a world tucked beneath early dark
Your tangerine and gold and green as gourds are heaped in bright array
Your crisp hello where dawn’s tableau gleams like a silver serving tray
Your rains that spill from hill to hill, your chill that kindles wanderlust
Your pleasure of so-much-to-love before you turn to wonder-dust
September, you run wonder through us like shafts of sunlight through leaves
You rush the skin that we are in with joys gathered like harvest sheaves
While we begin to sense the thinning, winning ways of days of yore
You wake in us an ache because of so much to be thankful for
© Janet Martin
Your tangerine and gold and green as gourds are heaped in bright array...
Your crisp hello where dawn’s tableau gleams like a silver serving tray...
Your rains that spill from hill to hill, your chill that kindles wanderlust...
Your pleasure of so-much-to-love before you turn to wonder-dust...
Yesterday's 'canning-first'-plum sauce! SO yummy
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!