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Last embers of summer
In the fading light, a golden melancholy settled over the hill.
As a solemn tractor ploughed on the dim brow sorrowfully,
a faint line was drawn across the shining crest, and in the distance
trees echoed silently.
Lithe wisps of cloud covered the canvas, stroked with no paint,
only wistfulness and longing.
The church was dark and sombre in the shadow of the evening,
and stood shyly in the shade.
A small wooden fence flew deep into the fields, and vanished from view.
Still, the old river lay unbroken, until a splash erupted from its flow,
and rippled plainly.
Suddenly the sun grew bright, and cascaded the world with its brilliance,
warming my heart with a clarity stolen from the past.
It lit up the grass in a green gold plume, and flames spread across
the acres of barren brown leaves, as if flickering in the last embers of summer.
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