Solstice  by Jane Hirshfield

The Earth today tilts one way, then another.

And yes, though all things change,

this night again will watch its fireflies,

then go in to a bed with sheets,

to lights, a beloved.

To running water cold and hot.

Take nothing for granted,

you who were also opulent, a stung cosmos.

Birds sang, frogs sang, their sufficient unto.

The late-night rain-bringing thunder.

And if days grew ordinarily shorter,

the dark’s mirror lengthened,

and one’s gain was not the other lessened.