They placed a test within the breast
Of humans, who go round and round
To gaze on fullness, once, and then
Descend, with scent and sigh
From gold on face to black
So little held, this joy of June’s
Delight and softest night with dawn
A moment’s slumber distant
Long grass between the fingers
Petals’ kiss, a fleeting bliss
A setting sun.
Son of the Sun whose outward star
Then cycles down, withhold the frown
And hide, with pride, regret.
For you alone can see the whole
And shepherd in and out without
Fragility, your true nobility.
©Stephen Tanham 12June2020