Late summer still gives out its warmth so sweet
In daily gifts. Above the cups of flowers
With wings that seem more wearily to beat
A butterfly shines bright in golden showers.
The air of evening and the air of morning
Is warm and moist with drops of mist and dew
And from the mulberry tree, without a warning
A yellow leaf drifts off into the blue.
The shady vine leaves hide the purple grapes
A lizard lies upon the sunlit stone.
Under some magic spell the world now sleeps
And with its dreams it must be left alone.
Sometimes the endless golden stillness seems
Accompanied by music sweet and pleasant
Until the world awakens from its dreams
Returning to the living, breathing present.
We old ones stand and pluck fruit from the bough
With hands well warmed and summer-sun-burned brown.
The day still smiles, the sun has not gone down
And we still revel in the here and now.