What golden pink and lovely skies
do sunsets make before my eyes?
What lush of green that smells so fresh
is drifting in through doors of mesh?
What barbecue or campfire smoke
is swirling ‘round the happy folk?
What gardens grow and give their yield
from the tiny patch to massive fields?
What cool of night and what full of moon
comes too late and then leaves too soon?
This season is as it has always been,
from now back to the dawn of then.
What springs to life before the fall,
if not summer as fairest of them all?