The air sweet with honeysuckle,
imbues the morn,
and sun in slow rising warmth
seems to imbibe that redolent perfume,
as if to bow to summer’s will,
and entice those roses to unfurl in glory
and scent the garden
to linger in the day’s bright follow.
Shade is like a respite
for all manner of life,
cool under a canopy of gently flickering light,
and the cat is sprawled out in elegant pose,
cooling his lustrous fur, while
birds chatter above in twisted vines,
their sprightly shrills in mirth,
as the morning churns to noon.
Quietness descends on the garden,
only the gentle hum of bees resound,
everything else in the harshness of sun,
has quietly gone to ground,
to rest before the gloaming,
the sigh at end of day,
to await as glittering skies ignite,
keep summer’s will at bay.
And under the myriad skies,
eternal suns and misted dreams awry,
unknown the end to seeking minds,
lost in questions that tell no lies,
yet have us wonder of our place,
here in the grace of living,
in summer’s tender warming rise,
beneath the arbor I do spy the heavens.
Tony DeLorger © 2017