A Late Harvest

-A Late Harvest-

September
the last splay of the bellflowers are in the open field.
The bees, marking time, flitting between each blossom,
long ago made new;
Perhaps more in hope than expectation.
A half blown dandelion rests frazzled against the wild-grass.
It is as if at long last rest has come,
baked beneath the sweltering sun of yesterday.
The grass seeds have blown,
and all that is left are the thin willow husks
rocking stiffly in the wind.
They too have had their day,
and still the bees endless industry,
a golden light for the long night to come.
I saw your face again today,
transposed upon a golden field of yore
- and still the bees, gently flit from bloom to bloom,
A late harvest, the bounty and the gift,
of winters cold store.

© Richard Michael Parker 2013