Demeter

I'm the summer's pride, the heart of the corn,
the swallow's sickle, the circle
of the not yet died
and of the unborn.

I'm summer's lease, the cash in the till,
the wet footprint in the shower,
the hour and then another hour
of the ignorable ill.

I'm summer's heart, the beat
of the drum in the barley straw,
the dressed-up festival, the masks, the bore,
the not worth living for.

I'm harvest, the olive trees,
crushed oil and seized grape,
the gift of life.
I promised only imperfection,
was almost everyone's wife.
...