Written on June 21, 2026
Even now
The sun’s rose red kiss which breathes life as it stings,
Fades beyond the pines.
Tender is the afterglow of a summer’s night.
The gray time
When birds sing and crickets chirp,
All alone with the thoughts of the day.
Even now
I long for the Summer to return that has not yet passed;
A preemptive grief,
Of bygone time, remembered for what it could still be.
Foolish, foolish
How good men can be hypocrites is a mystery
Explained by the sight of birds floating closer to the sun than they.
Andrew Witt 
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