LONG SUMMER
Hay lies golden.
A still, blue morning threaded
With skimming swallows.
Waiting, (for nothing in particular),
Thoughts form a translucent tent,
The hollow hush of calm.
A butterfly’s uncertain path,
breeze-borne, is this life,
Certain as the edge of summer clouds.
Time, a slow roll across hillsides,
Sun and moon, sun and moon,
A garland of slow, warm days.
simonhlilly 