Good Life

Again the sun begins to burn
as migratory birds return,
a giant V across the blue
to start the cycle up anew.

How many days like this are left,
how many strands to fill the weft
before we are, at last, bereft
of time to perpetrate our theft

of these few quiet moments here
upon a metamorphic sphere
with (currently) so few concerns
beyond what bounty being earns.