A last summer's day

A last summer’s day  dances to
a soft breeze playing a tune
on the strings of this spider’s wheel,
a tune beyond my hearing.

A late summer sun makes its rays
glisten to the tune.
I can see it now.

The forest vibrates with this music,
feasting now the season is turning –
summer leaves its fruits to the world
and autumn prepares itself
to play its part.

Spider sits at the heart,
as if holding court,
quietly enthroned.

She wove her web
to the ancients laws,
for my eyes to witness
time’s true rule,
the dance of the seasons –
never a funeral dirge at a world’s ending,
for ever
a new queen rises
to the throne.

Spider is her herald,
flying the colours of Autumn
in this gentle breeze,
while summer’s fingers gently take
their leave of my face –
we will be back, remember us.