August 8th, 2006

bush

By request

I was asked for some nature poetry. This is not fluffy, gauzy stuff; more seasonal in tone. But I like it.

Late Summer

I, dusty and bedraggled as I am,
Pestered with wasps and weeds and making jam,
Blowzy and stale, my welcome long outstayed,
Proved false in every promise that I made,
At my beginning, I believed, like you,
Something would come of all my green and blue.
Mortals remember, looking on the thing
I am, that I, even I, was once a spring.

-- C.S. Lewis