Kamaskera Summers Edge

The hawthorn's done, the blossom's broon,
The swallows trace a higher roon,
The light hangs lang but willnae stay,
This is the edge of yesterday.

Summer's edge, summer's edge,
One foot on the garden ledge,
Not yet warm, not yet gone,
The in-between where we belong.

The farm road shimmers after rain,
The barley bends but disnae strain,
We've stood at doors like this before —
One season closing, one wants more.

Summer's edge, summer's edge,
One foot on the garden ledge,
Not yet warm, not yet gone,
The in-between where we belong.