Friday, February 5, 2010

Of Summer Past

As I lay here in this field of clover
I dream of a youthful summer.
A magical time when days were full--
Full of innocent child's games,
soft, billowly clouds forming shapes before my wondrous eyes.
Full of warm summer sun softly baking my skin,
nights of fireflies transforming my world into one that of mystic.

As I lay here in this field of clover
my own adolescent summer almost over.
The leaves will turn, the air will chill.
Soon frost, then snow will kiss the ground
making my visions seem that of a lie.
But then -- buds will sprout, new life bourn,
thunderous rain will awaken new life.
Summer will approach, then come.
I may hope and wish my heart away,
but summer of childlike bliss will come no more.

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