Letting Go of Summer

If someone were to ask me
Where my summer has gone
I would say:
Into the gold in the mown fields under my feet
Or under the carpet of damp leaves
Along the path near the line of trees.

In winter it will rest
Under a layer of ice,
Blanketed its tired strength,
Lying in wait for trumpets to sound
Spring's awakening
To make my summer happen again.


Collected Poems 16
Letting Go of Summer

If someone were to ask
Where the summer has gone
Tell him:
Into the gold of the mown fields under foot
Or beneath the carpet of damp leaves
Along the path
At the wood's edge.

In winter it will rest
Under a layer of ice,
Its tired strength blanketed,
Lying in wait
For trumpets to sound
Spring's awakening
To let summer happen again.