Come, sweet deliverer of days
That dawn early and linger late
You stir the soul with wholesome praise
For mercies fragrant, flower-shaped
And on a page of greenest phrase
Make common poets laureates
Come, pretty plot of paradise
Rife with new life drawn from staid dust
Where brooks are garnished with soft sighs
Of yellow stars and dreamer’s lust
And every day is like a prize
Pink-purple-gold trophies of trust
Come, season-divined doggerel
Thy poetry is like a prayer
In temples framed by hill and dell
With roof of sky and walls of air
Where testaments of heaven swell
From earthy founts of petal-fare
Come, tender splendor of a tune
Strummed by minstrels of rain and rose
Where choristers of nature croon
The hymns that leaf-lyrists compose
Come, formless pantheon called June
Praise God from whom thy merit flows
© Janet Martin
Sincere apologies to the first no. of readers to this poem, posted before proper proof-reading, with half-writ lines and word repetition, just to name a few of the oopsies corrected!
Sincere apologies to the first no. of readers to this poem, posted before proper proof-reading, with half-writ lines and word repetition, just to name a few of the oopsies corrected!
