There’s a harmony in summer of a rich and perfect blend;
Though its cadences descend
In a long chromatic scale,
In the heart at its beginning there’s no hint of winter wail.
Orange-scarlet are its poppies, blue and purple are its flags;
And upon the lofty crags
Blaze like fanfares golden flames,
And an orchestra of pigments a full rhapsody proclaims.
But the key is changing subtly to a lower minor mode
And the chords a sadness bode.
One by one the players leave,
Till the stage is cold and empty while the autumn mourners grieve.
While the instruments are resting, still the Great Conductor pores
Sleepless over unheard scores.
In His mind the themes assemble,
Themes that on the waiting world when spring returns will tremble.
Weekly Times 25.8.61