What more could we have asked, so long ago,
than this, this endless noon, this cloudless sky,
idyllic, constant, calm? How could we know
we’d weary of that bright, unblinking eye?
Such blessings grow oppressive, and this grace
now lays upon us torpor like a pall;
each languid move, each whispered word, each trace
of breath–the weight of hours has stilled them all.
Life teeters on the fulcrum of the sun
until the course of nature drags it down,
progressing slowly through the vacant plain
to that last, passing point where we are shown
a shaft of light between two standing stones–
a sign–before the longest day is done.
Florence Newman, Professor emerita
Department of English, Towson University
Doodlemeister's Weblog 
Flo, this is a lovely meditation on some of the mysteries we live with, every day. BTW: when I clicked this link, an ad popped up: “Don’t get sucker-punched. Rest in Peace with a $350,000 life insurance policy . . .” Did you see it?
Jo-Ann
I didn’t see the ad, although it would (as you imply) offer an ironic commentary on the ideas raised by the poem. Thank you for your thoughtful and observant response.
Great picture and the perfect poem to accompany it.