LATE SUMMER by Eric Rosenbloom copyright 2002 The season’s maturity is summer’s wane, A mellowing of early exuberance Yet grandeur of a calm confidence, The small sweet fruit on the raspberry cane. The crickets save their energy for love calls, And modestly brilliant flowers shine Atop the rich-leaved patient stalks that line The edges of fields and fences and old stalls. The rodents never forget that summers end And now in the shade of the august haze They rest a while these satisfied yet anxious days To wonder how this winter each will fend. Settled in our cushions while gazing at the stars, My hand in yours, the crickets’ hum is ours. |