Of gardening glory, of soft sinking light
Of sunflower palaces, stumbling flight
Of old ladies in aprons gone homeward to rest,
Behold Demeter, my dear one, the last chicken left.
Under the wings of her sisters she no longer sleeps
No more do the blossoms of summer's reign keep.
I feel as if, sometimes, she glimpses their ghosts—
That in her seniority, she's less lonely than most.
She's beginning to tire; I can see as it grows.
It shouldn't be long 'fore she tranquilly goes.
But on this glimmering evening, as she tills the dark soil,
She moves with a sureness, commanding and royal.
She's gotten more saucy at the ripe age of eight—
I watch her waiting for suitors at the old garden gate.
Too big for her britches and given to mirth,
Behold Demeter, my dear one, the queen of the earth.
YOU ARE READING
These Hazy Days
PoesiaA collection of poetry for the summer and autumn days. cover by me, on canva.com all rights reserved. ...
