It was amid an Indian summer,
deep in the season’s golden glow
when we would normally expect
the crisp and still of autumn’s chill,
beckonning a hint if winter’s snow.
For two days there had been no cloud.
The long hot Spring that never ends;
no wisp of moisture in a sky
of perfect blue, as if for you.
No breath of wind of you portends.
Then you were born of Jupiter,
rising like a sun at night,
on a clear eastern horizon,
showing us his ancient light.
You came with russet cheeks and dark,
dark hair; aged before the time was nigh,
before you were much more than nought.
But you are still a star and will
remain the apple of our eye.
And into fiscal slump you came;
a universe that’s full of strife;
a banking crisis, Arab Spring;
a world that’s gone so badly wrong,
hopelessness is running rife.
So you must always be aware
that human beings are many kinds;
some seek power, others good
one is greedy, another needy.
So guard your conscience, know you mind.
But underneath the radar is
a hint that nature’s voice is winning;
revealing the ring of bright water
in every county a lutra bounty.
Is this where you will spend your innings?
Then all that can be asked of you
is that you do your best to make
the most of what you have; be sure
you can be true, whatever you do
and remember this for family’s sake:
Be true and honour your sibling.
Respect your parents and hold
your love and faith above all else.
Be always strong and never long…
for all that glitters… ’tis not gold.
(See also the poem “Perfection” and the post on my other blog “Child-God…“)
© 2011 John Anstie