Lydia Baron

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The Time Of Waiting

The Time of Waiting
By Lydia Baron

And after all these years
Some lean, others bountiful

After summer Solstice mornings
and perfumed air of peonies swollen pink and sweet

And nights alive with cricketwhispers
the shy blink of fireflies in ivy vines
under the sliver of a crescent moon

After Midsummer blooms of chicory and goldenrod
Thistle enough to prick a finger
by the crowning of Queen Anne's lace

After blackberries and thorns and
Plump summer pies, sweet sugar-purple
Pear trees loaded with August gold

I think of The Promise we made so long ago

And as November moons make short our days
and remnants of the Ancient Oak
burn long and bright and keep
the wolf's-breath chill of winter
just outside our door

I know I will wait
with you

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