Sweet Summer- Part two

"Summer afternoon; summer afternoon; 

to me those have always been the two most beautiful words 

in the English language." 

Henry James

Summer morning, afternoon and night are celebration-worthy, 

don't you agree?!

compilation # 2  of summer mementos

(sweet summer part one HERE)

Sweet summer is mornings, swathed in soft-mist cape

A rushing recurrence of wonder, agape...

A landscape where lilies of garden and field

Awes/Wows worship with whispers of Heaven revealed...

Where work of an Artist anoints our gaze

With countryside canvases agog with praise...

From fine feathered choristers filling the glade

With joy for the new day the Lord has made

Sweet summer is soaking in sun-shaded nooks

With cuppa hot java and basket of books

Sweet summer’s to-do lists are not hard to bear

Of tending the garden, then gleaning fresh fare...

Sweet summer is ever the tenderest yen

Of troubadour-tug of wars twixt plow and pen...

Good Lord full of mercy, what is Woman to do

With sink full of dishes, and world full of You...

Sweet summer is mornings, swathed in soft-mist cape

A rushing recurrence of wonder, agape

A landscape where lilies of garden and field

Awes/Wows worship with whispers of Heaven revealed

Where work of an Artist anoints our gaze

With countryside canvases agog with praise

From fine feathered choristers filling the glade

With joy for the new day the Lord has made

Impressing the Creature, human-nature bent

To trust in their Teacher and thus be content

Sweet summer is soaking in sun-shaded nooks

With cuppa hot java and basket of books

To take a break from toil’s beck of grins and groans

That earns the sweet slumber of work-weary bones

From redeeming wisely each hour, for we know

The truth of the precept; 'we reap what we sow'

And it is not prudent to sit idle long

Nor is it idleness to join in the song

That trembles in tresses of maple and birch

Above grassy pews in an open-air church

Sweet summer’s to-do lists are not hard to bear

Of tending the garden, then gleaning fresh fare

Of weeding and pruning and mowing for hours

To enjoy the company of birds and flow’rs

To commune with the kind Creator of these;

Hilltops fringed with stately silhouettes of trees

Meadows hung from ethereal rafters, azure

Rivers full of laughter and fisherman’s lure

Larkspur’s purple pleasure for butterflies, bees

And we who delight in the Maker of these

Sweet summer is ever the tenderest yen

Of troubadour-tug of wars twixt plow and pen

Good Lord full of mercy, what is Woman to do

With sink full of dishes, and world full of You

Where Time’s fleeting fuel, so briefly bestows

Creation’s crown jewel in every rose

And Poet is eager to tame onto page

Fond scenes to revisit when winter gales rage

Like sweet summer morning, swathed in mint-green mist

Like long summer evening, dust and dew kissed

Like slow summer afternoons, muzzled, it seems

Where breeze is too lazy to ruffle the streams

Where the former riot of bird song and screech

Grows quiet, save for the sea gulls at the beach

Where mothers are ready for tots to take naps

And shake out the warm nest made of arms and laps

Where Cat that Dog chases, gets a holiday

Where yon slope showcases sun and shadow play

Where God tips a treasure vault of petal-wealth

Where reeds turn russet, as they drink to their health

Sweet summer is never presumptuous enough

To give us too much of everything we love

Then, break its bread rev’rently, savour each crumb

Of buttercup, daisy, of delphinium

And linger a little bit longer because

What is today's Is, will be tomorrow’s Was

Save, if by the grace of God He grants the ink

To press into poem endless poppy-pink

To capture, like the fragrance of lavender

The rapturous wonder of sweet, sweet summer

...because there is always a yesterday tugging

Always a precious today that needs hugging

 Always tomorrow, tonight holds at bay

Always a moment slip-slipping away

Always, in spite of  bygone's vast eons stilled

An eager emptiness waiting to be filled

Ah, sweet, sweetest summer, you do your best part

At keeping us younger/keening the hunger in years of the heart

Though we sense Past's eloquence, hour by hour

As we collect happiness/holiness, flower by flow'r

© Janet Martin

Where Time’s fleeting fuel, so briefly bestows

Creation’s crown jewel in every rose...