How do I say
the kind of joy that only
summer brings:
I cannot help
the wily pang
that sets my
heart to strings
the gentle touch
that wakens me
earlier than
before
the rising sun
the early run
of geese
who swoop
and soar,
there’s something wild
about a child
born into
this prime,
they seem
to dream
and play
and scheme
much more
than Christmas time,
yet with
all the grief
and harm
the world has given us

that solstice
arrives
and we all
thrive
in wanton
summer lust,
sailing
seeing
just believing
roses come to bloom
and every place
you look around
the light has
filled the room,
I await this day
every year
secretly wondering
if I’ll hear
the fabulous soaring
call,
and taste the breeze
from the whitecap
seas, and smile
to catch it all,
it’s really just a little
gift, a few sweet months
a vibrant lift,
before we come
to Fall!




©J.W.WINSLOW 7/1/09