The Garden

The summer has slipped by. Last night the moon

Was full once more, after its wax and wane.

The brightest and the chilliest hours will soon

Blur in our memories to sun and rain.

Roses and friendships flourished - petals of both

In color and in sweetness of perfume

Astonished us with pleasure in their growth:

Though flowers have died, affection keeps its bloom.

Now, at the end of often-glorious days,

Bracing for winter harshness to come,

I glance about the garden and give praise

For all that lives. Look. Our geranium

That lost her early, lavish flowering

Has found, these last two weeks, a second spring.