This is summer’s last – soon wild storms shall break
the drowsy peace, and resistless rain patter
upon the sun-baked earth, and trees shall ache
to the unleashing wind scattering all matter.

Our animals know and expectant wait:
the autumn comes late, the ducks sit sedate,
and sometimes catch flies on the yellowed lawn,
or fix upon an unseen woodland faun.

The cats stretch themselves into the lulled evening
or stare at unknown worlds beyond windows,
beyond the forests, beyond the meadows
while apples and olives perfèct sapped ripening.

Another season passes and time goes by
for who knows when we’ll be for ever away?

FP.