The Sun Beats Its Downward Gaze
THE SUN BEATS ITS DOWNWARD GAZE
The sun beats its downward gaze
Onto a spread-out garden,
Shimmering among the arrayed blossom,
With sultrily humid, sweat-inducing rays,
To break up the encrusted ground.
A resurrected form unbinds itself
From winter's hardening strictures,
Uncracks the crowded confines
In a stretched, yielding chrysalis
To emerge pristine of shape and hue
Into the burgeoning brightness
Of a gold-gleaming dawn.
Such is the harbinger
Of pleasure, tempered with ease,
Unhurried by the current of time,
And restful as an infant at sleep.
Yet rising from slumber,
Like a phoenix but gradually, in its way,
Not wasting effort or energy,
White-feathered wings grown out from
Broad, strong shoulders.
I watch it become what it always was,
Ready to claim its right to the skies,
Blue, unclouded, sweltering.
The summer's day melts into
A forgetful haze of meaning,
Of no need for answers.
The answer lies in nature's glory,
Matching it in every regard,
In tune with the seasons,
Where the cycle of life, death
And regeneration never breaks.
Copyright ©
Bill Drayton
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