THE TOWERS OF SUMMER
clouds roll
mixed with sunlight
slowly down
the side of Y Garn Dwad.
the hay is in now
so let it rain a warm rain.
now, now, everything green
reaches upward in one great exhale.
the towers of summer stretch out, bow down.
there is thunder
in the distance, so they say,
and the rivers will soon be filled again.
the surface of Llyn Berwyn though,
shall not be troubled for long:
it will return to its quiet reflection
of hills and cloud,
the brown trout
hardly noticing
a world
that cannot decide
between this and that.
held firm it is, unperturbed,
the lake that lies
in earth’s firm
folded hands.
—
simonhlilly 