Who sips,
when drought
is done and cups are full
again?
Even childbirth lies forgotten
at
the scent of summer’s
lilac
drifting in.
Bury both lips deep
and soon as you can.
Ignore what dribbles
down the chin,
it isn’t wasted.
Sky, in metered time,
revisits trembling blue.
What spills from this
and sunlight’s offering
is tasted
by earth anew.
Robert On The Air 