Last chance.

The Calder cauldron boils again
Hardcastle hags conjouring the change
The slip from green to golden glow
The burnished throne.

As though the bubbling mists were steam
The heat rises
Summer grasping on with her last gasps
To the leaves
Before they crispen, and fall
Crumble to rust
Wash the river red and sleep
Under their snowy bed.

Stoodley peaks above the foam
Through mellow mists
O’er rose kissed meadows
Where contemplative cows
Chew cud and watch the swallows fly.

Beneath the peace
Shaded from the sun
The grey dawn daily race is begun.
Enduring faces waiting for release
Play out their roles
Earn their tickets to the feast.

Soon she will peel back
The steamy skin
For one last glimpse of her
Radiant and high,
Before the fall,
When she is distant, cold,
or barely seen at all.

Children play and cats roll,
Bathe in that leaving light
Twilight is coming,
Get ready to be tucked in
For the long cold night.


3 thoughts on “Last chance.

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