Lord: it is time. The summer was vast.
Lay your shadows now across the sundial
and on open fields, let your winds be cast.
Fill the last fruits to completeness.
Grant them two more days on the ripening vine.
Push them to fulfillment. Press into dark wine
a few more drops of sweetness.
He who has no house shall build no longer.
He who is lonely, must remain alone.
He must wake to contend with errands that have grown,
and through city streets, restlessly wander,
back and forth as the leaves are blown.