Labor Day

The last of the produce is coming in;
a laughable crop in all,
consistent with our care and not seriously to be regretted.
A laggard half-green tomato here,
a cucumber swollen with forgetfulness
retrieved from beneath a stiffening leaf,
and the hysterical, half-parched basil,
nervously bursting into flower at the thought
that though we say we prize it
still we do not pick or pinch it back.

Today we are out walking,
harvesting the remnants of the summer;
a few weak sheaves of sunlight,
a precious bit of warmth beneath the breeze
to ease old faithful canine bones.
Ahead we see hurrying on the season
flowing over the bending grass,
like the children running into their future and
outpacing loving us.
If we are wise, we will notice the reddening leaves
disregarded in their flight,
and see in them the early springing into life
of life's next yield,
sweet respite till the spring.

September 9 2009