Perhaps this poem is more depressing than I remember and maybe it is a little early, but the teachers I know are in their classrooms this week, preparing for the arrival of the children. Summer has shrunk, and time is passing, and yet, for me, this day is so rich that I live as a well deeply filled with bubbling champagne. Happy enjoyment and appreciation of this day, lived in ten minute segments, or even five, if you so choose.
End of Summer
An agitation of the air,
A perturbation of the light
Admonished me the unloved year
Would turn on its hinge that night.
I stood in the disenchanted field
Amid the stubble and the stones
Amaded, while a small worm lisped to me
The song of my marrow-bones.
Blue poured into summer blue,
A hawk broke from his cloudless tower,
The roof of the silo blazed, and I knew
That part of my life was forever over.
Always the iron door of the North
Clangs open: birds, leaves, snows
Order their population forth,
And a cruel wind blows.
