"The End of the Summer."

The Rowan berries lie heavy,
Dipping the boughs in holy adoration
To the earth that bore them.
They glow like drops of blood on the brow,
Falling for new life, renewal.

Moved from the mountain-top,
Ashy marks of pointed finger
Burning accusations
Appear on the leaves;
Toothed groups of thirteen,
Twelve disciples paired, repaired,
And the One at the head
Borne and bruised for our revival.


Kittie Carr