A Poem: Afternoon

Is heaven a long summer’s afternoon?

Does it sound like cicada’s singing,
insects, the brush of leaf upon leaf.

The occasional bird calling,
the rest stilled by the sun’s heat.

Is heaven the sun falling below the pine’s crowns,
shining through their needles a lacework pattern.

Is it grass, under leaves still spring green,
and branches like a fan, open.

Is it children laughing, calling,
as children do across the neighbourhood,

and echoing down the passages of time –
that heaven remains balanced

as a needle pivoting,

a musical box playing
the same forever tune.

Yes, heaven at 10 years of age
and heaven now, I think

still bears the comparison,
this long, hot summer’s afternoon.

Ana Lisa de Jong
Living Tree Poetry
February 2020

A poem from our vanished summer.  Nice to remember.


4 thoughts on “A Poem: Afternoon

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