As summer slips into autumn
So afternoon fades to dusk
And the new moisture in the air
Carries aroma from the open ground
And the hay’s second cutting
That lies in furrows on the broad field
Under the moon that paints the world silver.
As day passes, my thoughts are drawn
To others who have passed
Old men, lots of them
Who kept their cars for twenty years
Pulled their weight
And served their generation
And some young men.
Across the way a naked yellow bulb
Lights the front of a barn
The old wood seems to glisten
I smell the sweet new-cut grass
Some flower heavy in the air
Far away woodsmoke
And something else I ache for
But cannot name.