It’s now July,
the year half-done–
sun still slung
quite high in sky,

but past its peak,
where it has already sunk
daily to arc to lower slant,
slow but sure to become
much more oblique–

rays more weakly piercing through
the atmosphere
twixt me and you. . .

and though
time will grow
ever more scant,
the gap is truly very grand. . .

and if we wish
to set our love upon the mend,
we’ve got
a lot
of work to do–

to rebuild peace
and make things clear,

before the sun slinks
oh so low,
and this old year
rolls to its eventual end.

This entry was posted in Medium Length Poems, Poetry, Summer and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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