It is time, dear Sir. We are calling you now.
Your summer was immense.
Lay your shadow on the sundial.
Drape your curtains across the fence.
Command the last fruits to be full,
while on the meadows the winds run free.
Give them a final few southerly days
to ripen upon their tree.
Urge them on into completion
and chase their sweetness into their wine.
Who has no house now will never build one,
though he’s free to admire mine.
Who is now alone will remain alone
in the confines of his room,
and will look out upon the falling leaves –
the leaves that will line his tomb.
So come out, Sir. Emerge once more
into the finale of your year,
and command that the full become the stark
and the great become the mere.
[Previous: Accordion]
[Next: Up Close and from Afar]