William I. Atkinson
My distillate of summer, that red mane Learned color from a dawn-exploding sun; And smooth stream-polished pebbles of green jade That glow beneath quick waters, taught your eyes.
Warm earth instructed you: the summer soil, Prepared and fruitful, lies inside your skin, And lessons learned from deep-gold summer wind Make my mind breathless when I see you walk.
Your smile may show foreknowledge of year’s end, The sun’s cessation, and the wan leaves’ rain; But your bright smile, like glint of hidden lakes, Suspends the autumn in its changeless calm.
Come slight earth-goddess, guardian of old truth, And make me privileged pupil of your lips.