Grace
Summer seems tired today,
Sun struggling to break through heavy grey,
Even the wind seems slow
as it bends the thistle and rolls soft silken
tufts across the lane.
Time has tangled the hedgerow
Where the birds have left their empty nests,
And bare and broken stalks
Divested of their pink and purple dress
Shiver in the breeze.
But does the summer rage
against the dying of the light?
Oh what lessons could mere mortals learn.
With quiet grace the season ages,
Shaking loose its leaves
Laying down its fruit
Ready to slip into the sleep of winter
Its job complete.
Wendy Bowers
Walking above Trawden
28.8.18
Summer seems tired today,
Sun struggling to break through heavy grey,
Even the wind seems slow
as it bends the thistle and rolls soft silken
tufts across the lane.
Time has tangled the hedgerow
Where the birds have left their empty nests,
And bare and broken stalks
Divested of their pink and purple dress
Shiver in the breeze.
But does the summer rage
against the dying of the light?
Oh what lessons could mere mortals learn.
With quiet grace the season ages,
Shaking loose its leaves
Laying down its fruit
Ready to slip into the sleep of winter
Its job complete.
Wendy Bowers
Walking above Trawden
28.8.18