Hope
Alas with sadness summer slowly dies.
Each year I mourn its undesired loss.
Beneath the trees a leafy carpet lies;
But is that useless wasteful dross?
The warmth that once embraced my aged bones
Now weakens and brings but small relief.
The trees are robed in warm deceitful tones.
New coolness brings my limbs much bitter grief.
The growing light once ruled from four ‘til ten,
Now waning fights to stay from six to six,
And yet the light must surely come again.
New hope we’ll find within the sombre mix.
In nature’s harsh but needful disaffection
We find an unexpected hope of resurrection.
Peter M Grinham 7th September 2022
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