Before the Fall

The sun's light's gone to gold, at once a harbinger
Of fall's arrival and an echo of the tick-tock deaths
Of corn and soybean plants. Little hybrids,
Frankensteins, they turn together, unlike plants
In nature, more like Chinese cadres, seated in a
Stadium and raising placards overhead. I mourn
The passing of the season, lay defiantly beside
The pool, and wonder whether your appearance
Here, always unlikely, might prolong the summer's
Languor, might diminish winter's chill. Such
Speculation isn't wise. You will not come,
But autumn will, and, consequently, I should
Sit up, feel the warmth upon my face, and mine
The sky and valley for their evanescent gold.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 178 times
Written on 2019-09-18 at 13:01

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