Imagining you, walking by the river;
evening light still, soft on your cheeks.
I can hear the water, now; gentle whispers,
caressing her banks, that touch your feet,
warm in the grass – toes most alive
at the fading day’s end.
Summer lives, but she is tired
on raising swans and apple trees,
swathes of grasses and bright echinops,
fox cubs and marigolds:
a rest deserved, and sought.
And so the blue sky fades to white
laying down her head on softening clouds,
and closing slowly blossom eyes
to sleep, and dream,