Hour

Unknown

Hour

Love's time's beggar, but even a single hour,
bright as a dropped coin, makes love rich.
We find an hour together, spend it not on flowers
or wine, but the whole of the summer sky and a grass ditch.
For thousands of seconds we kiss; your hair
like treasure on the ground; the Midas light
turning your limbs to gold. Time slows, for here
we are millionaires, backhanding the night
so nothing dark will end our shining hour,
no jewel hold a candle to the cuckoo spit
hung from the blade of grass at your ear,
no chandelier or spotlight see you better lit
than here. Now. Time hates love, wants love poor,
but love spins gold, gold, gold from straw.

Carol Ann Duffy

This has been a golden summer so far. That sense of being blessed has been with me every day. This poem might be written about lovers, but for me it's the theme of riches, gold, treasure, jewels, and gold, gold, gold, that strikes an answering chord in me. The time to love is short, and yet in this poem even a single hour is of such richness that time seems to slow, to transform into something timeless and incorruptible. We are millionaires in the Midas light of summer. It's true. These moments we spend in love, for love, with love, they are forever.