A sonnet for the one with whom I’ve run the years.

The sun’s heat on my arms lands just when fall’s
Breeze blows it away, like summer’s spent leaves;
What is left of the spring, mockingbird calls,
Holds on to summer though the end it perceives.
We sit in shade. You knit (setting in sleeves)
Too warm in the sun, still fall’s overtaking.
Moving again too cool under the eaves
I see you at twenty your future betaking.

Time’s run us far, the days and years breaking
Our bodies bely the youth that is there
This side our solstice, sorrow and aching
Turns slow into sweetness, plain into fair.
Beauty has not faded, but grows more deeper and bright
More precious and clear as Indian Summer’s light.

© Randy Edwards 2016
Photo: Catherine Edwards