Two Poems

There is a June when Corn is cut

There is a June when Corn is cut

And Roses in the Seed—

A Summer briefer than the first

But tenderer indeed

As should a Face supposed the Grave's

Emerge a single Noon

In the Vermilion that it wore

Affect us, and return—

Two Seasons, it is said, exist—

The Summer of the Just,

And this of Ours, diversified

With Prospect, and with Frost—

May not our Second with its First

So infinite compare

That We but recollect the one

The other to prefer? 

Emily Dickinson

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Claim the Season

“Reason is not automatic. Those who deny it cannot be conquered by it. 

Do not count on them. Leave them alone.”  -  Ayn Rand

Slash and burn,

The seasons turn,

And just as one is yearning for the new

The blasted heat of Summer claims its due.

Take the high road

Where they last sowed

Grass, but now the weeds have wrested the hill.

Can we find respite on this hill?  Dare we - will

we find a way to claim the new season?

Or is there no place here for our reason?

James Henderson, Geography Lessons  (2012)