Fifty-Nine

Fifty-nine is where the trail steepens
In the downward rush towards car and shower.
Fierce sun is dappled now, the veil deepens,
The chill of shadowed breezes tells the hour;
Yet all the day's sweet joy retains its power.

Now is time to muse upon the evening
Instead of looking to the roots and stones.
No dreams of life more rich, more full of leavening,
Even as one's thoughts take deeper tones.