At Our Creator’s Beckon

At Our Creator’s Beckon

West ‘cross the bay
Gatsby doth pray
Beseeching summer’s solstice

The winter’s moon
Cries loud the loon
Turn just a wee bit faster

The water breathes
Noxious reprieves
The brume emerging gently

The zephyr still
‘Gainst Neptune’s will
Jupiter remains silent

Returns the breeze
Heard ‘mongst the trees
Shrouding the cypress shore line

Tupelos bend
When starts the wind
Their seeds anxious to wander

Young is the night
Preceding light
When Pluto seeks his harvest

If Saturn’s seed
Will not concede
The groundhog’s shadow lengthens

But spring will rise
Beneath the skies
At our Creator’s beckon

A Poem by Slim Gravy