Sonnet on a Hot Day in Late Summer

“La Grande Jatte”, by Georges Seurat

The not yet fallen sun evokes a scene

Fit for an impressionist’s painting hand:

A scene too bright to be a dream,

Of textured strokes loosely planned,

Of a lakeside view on glinting waves,

And of children with sandwiches and gazing men

-Bass and slow-developing octaves-

Not exactly wise, but with much in their ken.

Forgotten is the hotly contested prize:

No cat to excite the drowsy dog,

And no scene but sinking waves before their eyes,

While a pipe (or cigar?) wafts a fog.

Yet here, unseen, are forgotten dreams reborn,

Lying in the naked grass, awakened and forlorn.

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