Burst of gold, the showering sun
hanging overhead. You do not
feel the heat, only pure,
Evenings grow long and
the days, more languid.
You relinquish in all that
this world has to offer,
you realise that grasping at
straws will not do, will not do.
You realise that in this short-lived
life there is much to be done, and
despair will not do.
Yet you wake every living day,
out of this dreary state; like the mighty amaltas in the summer sun
glistening, and growing.