On Summer

The third poem in my Seasons quartet

The greatest show on earth is found in ground and nooks and brooks,

Wherever there are lovers, and where every child looks,

Where wild stretching fauna finds a corner yet to fill,

Of every downing valley, and of every crowning hill.

The fullest time of life is of sublime, empowered green,

And blue that boldly dares the red to share its flowered scene,

Of light that warms the days, and night delights that warm the heart,

Of cuddling and kissing, missing days for love of art.

The very soul of Summer is the youth of human time,

That bounds across the meadows to meander, leap, and climb

Between the laden branches, taking chances, making dares,

Faking grand adventures to recite at village fayres,

Where chubby girls will peck their cheeks then hide behind the hay,

And men will kneel in promises to hold a wedding day.

We see the purpose in our lives from every darling friend,

To share with us and care and fuss for endless months on end.

The gallant Prince of Summer merges swimmers with the streams,

And has his fun conducting all the lyric-birds’ bright themes,

And might on odd occasion paint horizons full of dreams.

He gaily strides through days and prides the honour, his to keep,

That he will be remembered as a time of restful sleep,

The ember of a campfire that’s held as a keepsake,

But the fire’s glow must dither, and the dreamer must awake.

The storybook of August, with its gloried illustrations,

Its tentative last pages’ ostentatious aspirations,

And hopes to all the ages that it will not be forgot,

As cover comes to cover and sun comes to its cot.

The greatest show on earth is when the ground is browned and hot.