Summer is a protective season,
a parent watching over their child’s play.
Leaves plump up, cushion falls. It seems
the bad forces also take vacations.
Our feet grow young again wading rivers,
we feel imaginative among clouds.
It’s time to let down, let fancy drain
fact of its sting — hammocks and novels
beckon, flowers come willingly to table.
Then one day we notice that color has fled
the garden, darkness and cold moved in. A hag-
gard woman stands at the door, has traveled
far on foot to warn of a war coming
our way. How could we have ignored it?
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—Thomas R. Smith
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