The longest day, when balance shifts,
the year worn halfway through;
someday this endless heat will lift
and bleached-bone skies be blue.
The springtime will be young once more—
a chance we never get—
when winter evens up the score
and cancels summer's debts.
This spendthrift season racks them up
until its days run out;
it drinks the dregs of every cup
and leaves us only drought,
then winter comes to fill the lakes
while spring sleeps underground.
But there are things the summer takes
that never will be found
until the summers do not burn
and winters do not freeze,
until the years no more shall turn
but counterpoise in peace.
Though now we weep for what is lost
to every old year's spin,
someday in perfect equinox
it shall be found again.
Summer Solstice Sunrise over Stonehenge 2005 Photograph Andrew Dunn, 21 June 2005. CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=195581
Kate Bluett 