Baker Jim Gilbert

Are you aware of the first hard frost
that will return you to the dust
your newly birthed offspring now resemble?

Do the maternal instincts in your one short season
prompt the daily weaving of this golden orb
for shelter and sustenance?

Amid this garden of maize and green,
amongst the songs of bird and critter,
do you sense the setting of the sun
as little matter,
composing your work of gilded silver
in a world you know
won´t last forever?