Secret Concert Poem by Nan Williamson

secret concert

Barefoot, we follow the shore,
fine sand burnishing feet,
summer rain gone, sailors' sun
dropping down so soon.
Violet skies befriend us,
orange-streaked bay below.

In the garden gazebo
young boy, slender, as an archer's bow
sways, plays pipes of Pan,
soft breathiness and tremolo.
Voices mingle, murmur, bass and treble,
secret concert under an envious moon.

I've heard, on full moon days
one must eat cold green fruit.
Surely, this frisson of delight
sings out for rosy peaches
and champagne.