The first hay is in and all at once

in the silent evening summer has come

knowing the place wholly the green skin

of its hidden slopes where the shadows will

never reach so far again and a few

gray hairs motionless high in the late

sunlight tell of rain before morning

and of finding the daybreak under green

water with no shadows but all still the same

still known still the known faces of summer

faces of water turning into themselves

changing without a word into themselves