Summer's Promise

The sun bakes the earth,

And all who call it home.

Heat sizzles the air,

The bones are all alone.

.

Bones of grasses dead,

Bones of mice unfed.

Bones of birds forgotten,

Bones of fruit rotten.

.

Cracks line the dirt,

Where the sun whipped it open.

A fatal hit,

Poor lives broken.

.

Heat bullies us,

Shoves us into the dark.

We grumble and hiss,

Wishing it were a trick.

.

The brittle dirt,

So little worth.

Yet in the dust,

Beginnings of life.

.

Autumn clouds the sky,

And with it, rain

Washes away the lie.

In the cracks, a tiny vine.

.

Look there! Once dead grass,

Life roots and take their place.

At a glance, their sway looks

Like children in a dance.

.

Autumn shadows the harsh rays,

Summer’s fury, its hand stays.

It waters down the hate,

Lessens its fiery gait.

.

Summer is a monster,

To all who bear it.

Yet, look closer,

And see the banquet.

.

It bakes the earth,

Wipes out the last.

Then it births,

Remains of the past.

.

Those bones of fruit,

Are in fact seeds.

And now they burrow,

Such fare they yield.

.

The bones of mice,

The grasses, they feed.

So grows the food,

Their children need.

.

Here cries the raven,

Surrounded by past kin.

Yet hopping on the green,

The bones’ grandson.

.

Risen from the ashes,

Of Summer’s pain,

Comes a new season,

Of verdant lush.

.

These months give and take,

They create and erase.

But what the sun forsakes,

A few months time will replace.

.

Cycles of longing,

Create periods of belonging.

We swallow our pride,

As we bear the tide.

.

Summer’s promise,

Though its sun we hate,

It promises a feast,

With a heated kiss.