Publications (#5): Cycles

No more sunsets? I think not.
Somewhere in some sylvan spot
The sun will rise, and flowers bloom,
And butterflies will flit and zoom.

A cycle and recycle thing,
One more Autumn, one more Spring.
Another’s orbit, not our own,
Our sun by then a lifeless stone.

Others have ideas, I know,
About what happens when we go.
A thousand virgins? Demons rare?
A fairyland beyond compare?

And others say beyond the tomb
Is nothing but an empty room.
But I—I think that I’ll just wait and see,
And hope for a recycled me.

Excerpt from Cycles by Richard Summers © Glen Drive Productions 2003.

Photo: Irises—Bodie, 2006.