Sun Shadows
If I loved less
the symphony of moon-fiddles
in dawn-rose sky,
would I ache less
in its passing?
Punch-drunk world,
still sings and shines
blue on blue,
still green the spring—
we whisper, “summer comes,”
the flower scent a reckoning.
The Oracle gave me this poem right away. The first three lines were her words—the first tiles I chose. The weather seems to be weird everywhere. We had some summery days this week. I do hope our spring lasts for a while though.
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 
The Oracle never fails to deliver. She is a most supportive muse, fully tuned into your poetic heart.
Thank you, Susan. That’s very kind.
I particularly like how thought-provoking this is. I was not expected the scent of flowers to be a reckoning. I had to sit with it for a moment or two.
Thank you, Liz. I love how you stop and think about poems, and I truly appreciate it!
You’re welcome, Merril. 🙂
Everything is both/and these days. Her thoughts are restless like the world. (K)
So true.
Such a soulful tribute to the sun… thank you.
Thank you!
Such a soulful tribute to the sun… thank you for the beautiful words.
Thank you so much for your beautiful comment!
You’re very welcome!
That first stanza makes me think of the Tennyson poem.
The world carries on turning whatever we decide.
I’m not sure which poem, but thank you!
Yes, it does. 🙂
Let us hope you won’t need to whisper it soon
Thank you, Derrick. Whispered because I’m afraid it’s coming too soon, and I fear it may be a hot, stormy, buggy summer.
Ah
🙂
What a gorgeous, soul-stirring write, Merril! ❤️
Thank you so much, Punam!❤️
‘symphony of moon-fiddles’
Thank you! 💙
I love the song-like rhyme scheme here. Reminds me of Ariel in The Tempest 😊
Thank you so much, Ingrid! That’s lovely!