Red-faced' running through that truthful morning,
Through the forest pathways, moist and shining,
Humming, racing through the summer days
To reach the echoes of the sea and sky.
Pure and unencumbered, he still listens
To the music of the dancing leaves
Hiding old branches, weary, gnarled and broken,
He does not notice yet, he still has summer.
At last he sits upon the aging velvet
Within the shadows in the concert hall,
And from the darkened stage a gentle plea:
"Come close, dear child, I'll play for you alone,
Still time to hear those precious notes of summer,
To simply listen, not to yearn or wonder."
Tonight he travels to another world,
A world of shuffling feet on heavy stone.
The notes of summer tremble far away;
Instead an ancient fugue rings through the hall,
Clear link from now to faded yesterday..
His head is heavy, nodding with the others.
Oh, shadowed stage, has he forgotten summer,
A carefree bough of green, the sun, the sea?
The falling leaves expose their barren branches,
He only hears the aching autumn wind.....
by Lois Hudson