Now

 NOW

The longed-for summer goes;
Dwindles away
To its last rose,
Its narrowest day.

No heaven-sweet air but must die;
Softlier float
Breathe lingeringly
Its final note.

Oh, what dull truths to tell!
Now is the all-sufficing all
Wherein to love the lovely well,
Whate’er befall.

~ Walter de la Mare (1873-1956), English writer, most famous for his ghost stories and children’s poetry

The chill of the morning persists each and every day.  The summer is quickly flown away.  My babies grown so brown and tall, or so very pink and round as the case may be. The sun moves in its course (or appears to) as we tilt toward the coming cold.  I measure it in morning sunbeams on my bedroom wall and the precise moment that 'suntime' arrives and wakes my darling girl, who must, in turn, wake me.  Before chores and duties and breakfast and the other pressing demands of the day call us from our bed, we hold our sweet babes and read and snuggle under flannel sheets and giggle at the blessings we possess.  Sweet moments in taking time to "love the lovely well."