Monday morning poetry

Lord: it is time.

The huge summer has gone by.

Low overlap the sundials with your shadows,

and on the meadows let the wind go free.
Command the fruits to swell on tree and vine;
grant them a few more warm transparent days,

urge them on to fulfillment then,

and pressthe final sweetness into the heavy wine.
Whoever has no house now, will never have one.

Whoever is alone will stay alone,

Will sit, read, write long letters through the evening,

and wander on the boulevards, up and down,
restlessly, while the dry leaves are blowing.

Rainer Maria Rilke, trans. Stephen Mitchell.

Illustration by 3amfromkyoto

taken from the beautiful website of

http://quirkybird.livejournal.com/575548.html