Summer song

Born pale they were
in a cottage so utterly thatched,
where a wafted wind blew over a garden
where little children hid;
and their parents who fed them
with buck, fowl and trout, till tiny bellies
were full as a flowering elm.

Paves the sky like a road cloaked with clouds,
darkened light ready to muddy
the quarts of berries picked by youthful hands,
kneeling children among the rows,
eating and cupping
eating and cupping
smiles smit and white as a crystal pool.

Sweet the rain where blue eyes stare,
sings the thrush in dampened leave and brush,
with richness grows the primrose, foxglove and hollyhock;
innocent minds racing to, jumping,
leaping awkward into puddles,
toils the water having been flung in all directions,
yet deeper grows the merriment.

Grows forth braided adolescence, a dazzle, their bloom
a freshness of honeysuckle,
be beginning down winding roads, wisdom is early;
airs innocent, daughters walk with the wind,
fonder a care in a letter, sealed with tender love;
the tall sun’s tingeing, the clouds undone,
the beauty of youth everlasting.

Copyright © 01/17/18 lance sheridan®

Summer song