The first days of the dark

The first days of the dark

The dark has begun in golden light
and golden leaves, blue river water
rushing and a soft south wind.

I feel them in the sun shafts,
where midges dance between the trees,
the dead generations and their gentle hands,

their quiet voices that mingle
with the river music, chiff chaff,
warbler and the bright robin.

Wait awhile, they say,
the sun is not yet set,
the summer not yet gone.

Think of us when winter comes,
watch for us among the cold stars,
and be content.