On Midsummer

Cone-flowers dance.

Arms overhead in

varied stages of

arabesque and age.

Head to toe, tapping slippers,

bowing in graceful

summer symphony.

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With a whistle, squeal

and a start, dancers leap,

one by one

into the murky green,

land on white Lilly Pads.

In harmonies,

they sing

a croaking song.

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Queen’s royal whites

and pink lace bend

and bow as if paying

homage to passers by

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In Mid-Summer,

green awnings cover

walking paths

like children

touching hands

building bridges.

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Tiny fingers

Pressed against

full cotton clouds.

Green is green

is forever

green.

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Until the reeds

turn brown.

Until the path

turns gray.

Until the curtain draws.

Yellow faces turn

downward as if

mourning

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the sun slowly dying

in an autumn-red sky.

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Susan Ward Trestrail

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4 thoughts on “On Midsummer

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