Summoning
There's nobody here from the long ago.
It=s summer, and I'm alone in the apple orchard.
The Starks are ripe, and the Roman Beauties,
but no one comes
to gather the rosy windfall.
I look out through the leaves and the waist-high horseweed,
and see the old schoolyard,
where after the chalk dust and paper of lessons
we played London Bridge and Red Rover.
But no one arrives from those childhood mornings,
when all the world lay before us,
young, and dappled in April light,
the Northern Spy in first flower,
and playmates calling my name.
Calling, calling,
Red Rover, Red Rover,
come over, come over.