I sit idle
while the last rays of the sun
slant across the garden;
I watch gnats fly furious
through the cool evening air
of a fast fading summer.
An Indian summer
when nature turns idle;
there is a stillness in the air
with a pale diminishing sun,
and the shortness of the days become furious
to meet the night settling upon a tired garden.
My once beautiful garden,
full of soft hues and summer-
scented musk, stir myself, become as furious
as the gnats, Stop being idle
fill up on solar energy, face a fading sun;
feel the oncoming rush of the autumn air.
Fill my lungs with air
prepare, my once stunning garden
for winter’s special style of sun;
she too can be as lovely as summer,
no need to turn idle,
be tranquil, busy yet not furious.
No necessity for furious,
tidy up, plant hardy for frosty air;
beneath the soil the bulbs lie idle,
let them lie the winter pansies will light the garden
as in the glorious days of summer,
they will smile at the sun.
dance in the sun,
a chill breeze may make them furious
to make a grey day seem as summer-
bright tempting an optimist to taste spring in the air;
turn a leafless patch into Eden’s garden,
I will not sit idle.
So weak is the sun in the Winter air
I’ll not feel furious in my pansied garden;
I’ll think of the heartsease summer, when for a space I could be idle.