Who can explain the shape of its cup?
These moments of joy that we hold up
To our Maker; as we dance and laugh
On summer’s tangled after-math
Even the chill wind cannot dull
The song in our heart and mouth; thankful
Thankful for the golden walnut tear
Marking the close of another year
Thankful for duty, never-ending
For the colors of farewell softly blending
With nature’s response of mute, barren trees
Stoking the moan of the wandering breeze
Thankful, yes, even for the aching sigh
Spawned by love and the tear in our eye
Who can define its measure of worth?
Humble design; startling treasures of earth
Shaped in a smile, or the driving rain
As we dream from the dry side of the window-pane
Shaped by the leaf dangling from a limb, brave
Before spiraling, drifting to its umber-musk grave
Or else, by the madrigal of bronzed corn
As it rustles; once emerald, now brittle, forlorn
Shaped by the reaper bent on filling his sheaf
With the scattered remnant of sun-flower grief
What is the shape of summer-end joy?
Of bittersweet, beautiful autumn alloy
Of moment-drops melting away soundlessly
In prelude to the music of memory
© Janet Martin
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