The Longest Day.

Even the longest day must end eventually,
Become a faded postcard stored in a cupboard,
A postcard fainter than my thumb print
Smudged upon a dirty window pane.

The longest day, important to me now,
Will lose the gloss and colour, fierce intensity
Of mid summer glory, this sensuous moment,
To become much less incisive than a dream.

Those things I find so special on this day,
The two new roses budding on the dead stick
That I thrust, with not much hope, into the ground,
A year or more ago, will soon be history -

Faint shadows of a summer garden where
I can no longer dig or rake or hoe.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
June 21st. - 23rd. 2020.