Until Next?

Was it gloaming that called,

To say the list of things

That it had held within?

The day was a parachute,

Gliding and swaying

Above the lush green cover,

In an airy expanse, breathing

Dust and hopes and plans,

For a time they had never seen.

But moments slipped like sand,

Past salted waters and a forlorn beach,

Waiting for none knows who.

Perhaps a next that might never be...

But still they farm seeds of

Until Next,

Naivete at its peak.

The summer you had wished for,

Dances in plumes of gemstones

In your yard, in your home.

Yet you look at the winter clouds

That have not been formed 

Until next summer then?

The winters brush and rustle

In fields and playgrounds

And in cold roads and lanes.

Yet you look at the leftover

Cola and frozen limewater cubes,

Preserved for a summer

That passed away, when

You looked elsewhere.

Until next winter then?

When is the now,

If there's always a next vow?

If 'until next' is the trend,

A standard held in gold, then

Until when?

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