My Kind of Days
-Barbara Boldt (1975)
Summer has gone
And left behind
A string of days
Of morning-mist
And autumn haze
And waves of mellow midday breezes.
September sun - her still warm rays
Are arcing lower,
Trimming days
And stretching shadows on the grass.
The earth lies crumbly turned and bare,
Bereft of summer's yield.
And yet -
The flowers in the field
And in the gardens everywhere
Are drinking of the golden sun;
Are bursting buds that should have died
On withering stems, their season spent.
Gone is the turbulence of spring,
Of summer's hot and passionate ways.
The air is clean and pure and still -
My time is here,
My kind of days!
