It only seems like yesteryear,
Despite the citadel of autumnal age.
Once there was a time of youth,
When the sun showed its fiery face at dawn,
To the sound of the rooster: cock-a-doodle-doo,
When Birds sang summer’s songs,
Rejoicing from tree tops to house-tops,
All performed with ease and grace.
When trees rustled to the music of breeze,
When Nature’s creatures performed,
From the rooster at dawn,
To the bee much later on.
When grown-ups in their prime,
Attending to daily chores,
While others idled by,
Elderly folk cast in a spectator’s costume,
Sowing seeds of insight to the unheedful ear.
In reflection, I cannot help but long, long for
Summer of yesteryear.