Ephemeral

The garden that I build today

Will not outlast the Summer.

Perennials survive as bones,

But every blossom Death intones,

And every stem lies bare, alone,

And pleading for its mother.

Our seasons travel in reverse

To those that rule your Winter.

Our wailing time is Summer’s hot

And dreary days, when we cannot

Quite bear to part the curtains, but

We long for, live for Winter.

So, many long for death to foes,

To those who sprout opinions.

To those who speak their mind, opine,

With such a different tack, than mine,

I cannot follow, can’t divine

How they control such minions.

Yet even in the darkest months,

There are survivors.  Lizards, slugs,

Deep underground, or out at night,

Where they escape the sun’s cruel blight,

Or patrol the snow, gray packs, on white:

They thrive despite the harshness.

All ye who thrive today, rejoice!

And may we grant thee time to grow.

Thy wisdom may infectious be.

Our ears must hear, and eyes must see

What faults in soil and climate be,

Which wither every row.

Endure your foes!  Endure the months

That blast upon your common sense,

And lose not faith, made mad by sun,

For Winter’s respite soon will come.

To fight ephemeral seasons shuns

And lengthens them,

And strengthens, what,

Had not your violence caused offense,

Was done.

For a piece of flash fiction about a chillier season, read The Season. For a poem about the hurricane season, when it is truly upon us, read Too Dark.