It’s summer and it’s raining 
Autumn soon will touch me here
Sunny weeks have run like rabbits
Possessed of feral fear

I catch the flurry and the torrent
On my walk beside the lake
Painted storks in their deep fishing
Not wishing their dinner late 

I hear the cuckoos and their calling
The larks and nightingales 
The moaning of street vendors
Calling past the evening’s pale

A few of hardy runners
Deterred not by any clime
Push on while others gather
‘Neath limb and nest and time

The cries that cross the water
Echo deep and dark and true
A light upon the altar
of the season's grays and blues