We missed the Lady, standing tall.
She shines, for an instant,
bursts, then hurries
joyous, to visit her koi.
“A parent(ly), I am,” a ploy, for joy
says the sun, not yet done.
Sunday, sundown, seven weeks end:
we take delivery of the tablets,
at dusk a Nation, after fifty days.
Who said it would not last,
with such orange suns
as these?
Make, and break fast.
©Philippe du Col, 2025