Summer's temporary pleasures.

Just because you need a little poetry in your life once in awhile, and to acknowledge the short-lived beauty of the early summer garden, MadgeWorld presents a poem by John Ciardi.

If you've never read any of his poems, we strongly suggest that you do so. If you're in an intellectually expansive mood, you might even entertain reading his children's poetry or his translation of Dante's Inferno -- we're told that it is the finest translation on the planet. But, we haven't read it -- you'll have to read it for yourself.

The Day of the Peonies
This is the day of the peonies. My daughter
in the spell of an abundance that can't last
filled every bowl and vase in the house with water
and mounded the day pink. When I came to breakfast
my transformed toast and coffee were body and blood
of the flowering alter. "The Times shall not intrude

on what this is," I read from the introit
and threw it to yesterday. One petal shed
into my cup. "I have my good and know it,"
I acknowledged, a service for the dead;
spooned out the pink omen and drank the waft
of feasted day, half holy and half daft.

"introit" from the Latin meaning "entrance". Also the beginning part of the Mass. We leave the interpretation and enjoyment to you, dear reader.

My Sister brought this lovely bouquet over on Sunday morning. We had the pleasure of Stinky and Lorelei's company for a short visit. In fact, today is his birthday, but that is a subject for aother day. Besides, when one's Offspring start turning 30, it makes one feel, well, old.

Listening to: Going, Going, Gone, Bob Dylan