The Peonies Have Their Day

" . . . and all day the black ants climb over them,

boring their deep and mysterious holes
into the curls,
craving the sweet sap,
taking it away

to their dark, underground cities . . ."

from "The Peonies"
by Mary Oliver

Days

What I admire most about days
Is their immaculate sense of timing.

They appear
inevitably
at first light

Eke
themselves out slowly
over noon

Then edge surefootedly
toward evening

To bow out
at the very soupcon
of darkness.

Spot on cue, every time.

by Liverpool Poet, Roger McGough (b. 1937)
(More McGough, for all seasons . . . )


********************

And for good measure, the Rare Treat Iris