Farewell, sweet belle, the dell is feathered with gold willow-down
The apple-orchard petals dazzle us, then drift, wind-blown
The dust of planting season settles in a green-spun mist
And dandelion-sunbeams turn to haloes silver-kissed
The garden holds the hope of brimming baskets, harvest-heaped
The meadow is the colour of a cup of tea, mint-steeped
The flower border burgeons with the beginning of blooms
Where all through May we sensed the whir of Mother Nature’s looms
The brook is full of minnows teased by Little Boy’s bare feet
The air is full of melodies of chirp and tweet-tweet-tweet
The pasture is a picnic blanket spread ‘neath heaven’s arch
Where dawn to dusk is longer than it was in middle March
Each day is like an invitation everyone receives
A gladness-celebration for the loveliness of leaves
The barren limb is laden with the hymns that you compose
A lush and plush percussion where the pleasant zephyr flows
Farewell, sweet belle, you did your part to make the heart rejoice
You spilled your pansy font and filled the bowers with your voice
Farewell, sweet belle, you always seem to disappear so soon
But we are not too blue because you always bring us June
© Janet Martin
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!