Longing
by MFostDelaney

Now that summer’s gone, I hope the heat
subsides, the nineties and the hundreds go
to where the natives worship it, complete
with thatched-home huts, and boats they briskly row.

I’m longing for the autumn’s sundown time
now that the summer’s gone, my dinner can
be hosted by the dusk, the meal sublime,
horizon streaked with gold that I can scan.

The fall, my favorite season of the year,
brings crisper nights for windows open wide,
now that the summer’s gone, bring in the clear
chirps of the peepers singing side by side.

And as I lay my head to go to sleep,
the clear night air enwraps me till the dawn
awakens me from dark time’s deadly neap
to morning–fresh–now that the summer’s gone.



 

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