Upon This Summed Dawn

Upon This Summered Dawn

Upon this summered dawn my soul finds rest,

Beyond the heather’d grasses here,

All laden,

Bowed heads,

Dew filled,

Cold beyond reason,

This season with its unseasonable chills,

My heart thrills-

At the rising of the sun,

Dew is lifted,

Dazzling light pours over brilliant, brightly colored summer flowers,

The wren has peeked her head from the smallest of holes in her gourd home,

She scolds me,

For entering her garden,

Pardon me,

Madam,

Pardon me.

Peter Lowell Paulson

July 16, 2014