that first day of summer has come,
the longest of all with no choice but to run.
for it runs from the east, chasing its own shadow,
on westward where travelers admit the challenges are not shallow...
by any means.
that first day of summer has come,
yet so quickly it leaves us, bewildered and stunned.
the moonshine reveals we must wait a year, somehow,
to again root for the day to finish its longest marathon and dip below...
be patient, serene.
that first day of summer has come,
patience aside, we've waited all our lives to fire the gun.
pull the trigger, move to alaska, complete a task worth wiping sweat from the brow.
from metaphor to metaphors, we sit. it's not yet time, yet the time is now.
we wait for chance to give the king a queen,
we wait to see that day still yet to be seen.