Yet this, too, will pass

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The summer sky began,

they sought to keep us out,

five kids confined to grounds,

white gloss paint on our hands.

 

Sometimes, a slipping starts.

The clouds delight the lost.

Where did it go, that time,

that sun-drunk confidence?

 

I walk the borders, mow,

maintain the privet hedge,

and fund horizons now

for taxmen, shrinks, and quacks.

 

Image: CC0 1.0 Universal (CC0 1.0) courtesy of Stocksnap.io

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