Deadheaded flowers
tossed into the compost heap—
a new season starts
The excitement of the first day of summer is tempered with the thoughts that the days will be growing shorter, the garden is in a race to ripen before the first frost, and the woodshed still needs to be filled. The work waits while dandelion seeds float on the warm breeze.
The days pass slowly,
years are in a rush to end—
A life of seasons.
A light rain offers little distraction; it's too wet to work in the garden, but not too wet to walk in the woods. Except for tranquility there is little here to gather; the fiddleheads have all unfurled, the chokecherries aren't quite ripe, and it's too warm for mushrooms. At the edge of the meadow the dog flushes a pheasant and turns to look at me— everything has a season.
Bracken waves me on
as if to say it's too late—
Time for summer things
© C.D Sinex
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful portrayal of the onset of summer, well articulated and nicely penned with insight. Thanks for sharing.