Golden syrup from the
Heavens trickle yet again.
Like tears they plummet
Soaking earth with life,
A tender aroma of sand
Arises to kiss
Summer a long goodbye.
A green scenery is born on the
Hands of the russet woods,
Pierced with yellow sunbeams
They spring up like ant hills
Ready to store a month’s harvest.
Shaky leaves sing the praises
Of joy as the down pour rests its
Tears on their arid sheath.
Are they the tears of
A joyful angel?
They fall with a soothing
Gentle feel…
Touching the olive leaves
And everything within
Its fine reach.
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