Ah, summer-world, a bud uncurled
In nature’s unfurled sigh
As fallow-seas rush out with ease
To tease the pleasing sky
Ah, dust-sweet joys and barefoot boys
And noise of cricket-throng
They brush the heart with sanguine art
And tilt its cup in song
Ah, green to gold to rust unfolds
The dust that holds the pen
That writes upon the azure yon
Then rolls it up again
Ah, ebbing flow of hold-let-go
Ah, favored stepping-stone
Embellished with dew-stars, a frith
That bleeds with winter’s bone
Ah, beaming bloom and teeming room
We dream at noon because
Too soon this splay of gold turns gray
In summer’s world that was
© Janet Martin
I'm not a fan of summer but your words almost make me one.
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