Saturday Poem

It Begins in August


You think back to childhood
when the days of summer seemed
endless, and time long enough.

Then the school bell rang,
and you woke with a jolt
into the mortality of arithmetic.


After supper, it was too dark
to go out again for very long,
then just too dark to go out,

then just too dark. So you begin
to learn to live with Night,
admire her, even love her a little.

by Nils Peterson