Fare thee well, oh summer’s day
the golden sun leaking through dark clouds
that play on the horizon and settle blue behind the trees turned orange
it is summer there still, but not on the field
of grass and wheat blown down by winds
brittle and breaking as we pluck stalks for fall decor,
dancing in leaves that fall down,
down from the trees.
bare limbs above dead grass, lost to this world that grows colder each day
that grows shorter minute by minute
until darkness swallows the hours around work.
But the sun will rise again, the clouds will break,
and dead limbs will sprout new leaves.
I will not walk here again in spring of the coming year
or maybe the year after
the world is changing too fast
and I am changing with it
goodbye, summer’s day, I look to see you come again;
and if not in this world, this climate, this land and people,
in the next where gold always paves the streets
and leaves are picked for healing
the Son sits and shines
and we play in summer’s sun all day.
“10 But the day of the Lord will come like a thief, in which the heavens will pass away with a roar and the elements will be destroyed with intense heat, and the earth and its works will be burned up.
11 Since all these things are to be destroyed in this way, what sort of people ought you to be in holy conduct and godliness, 12 looking for and hastening the coming of the day of God, because of which the heavens will be destroyed by burning, and the elements will melt with intense heat! 13 But according to His promise we are looking for new heavens and a new earth, in which righteousness dwells.” 2 Peter 3
Thank You, God, for a day of poetry in the field, Shakespeare and Tolkien and sunshine and wind, and a salutation to summer. To You be the glory! Amen.