A Summer Vision

Where Santon’s stream winds through its gorge

And little waterfalls

Make music in the humid air

A subtle presence everywhere

Haunts the gold-brackened walls.

 

Down corridors of time the ethos moves

Ageless, unmarked by change;

Though customs alter, creeds grow old,

And homesteads crumble, hearths grow cold,

The vital spark will warm and range.

 

Where children laugh and ducklings float

Eternal mornings shine.

Age captures them, and others come

A while on strings of life to strum

And drink the morrow’s wine.

 

The bees that shake the fuchsia bells

Are not the ones that came

Last year, but though that brood is gone

The task of nectaring goes on,

Feeding the deathless flame.

 

Mona’s Herald