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A Trilogy of Summer.

Updated on December 10, 2009

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A trilogy Of Summer!


Waif Waves!

The tiny tot
teases a wave
her taunting toes
tip-toeing in
to chase the ebb
then turning with
timid, toddler terror
to dash away
from the onrushing tide

Eventually a
big crest spanks her
smacking her plump bottom
down with a shove to shore
where she sits for a second
considering her adversary
then she waddles
with a bit
of an impish grin
back to tango
with the surf again
daring the giant curls
of the Atlantic
to comb her out!

Summer's debut!!

Summer gracefully strolls in,
under canopies of soft blue,
in her long, elegant, emerald gown,
spattered with dandy yellow sequins.

Her hair is a tangled bird’s nest,
woven of the finest golden rays
of sunshine, and bound by an
endless profusion of forget-me-nots.

She dances with tiny tots in attendance
who whirl around on her moss skirts,
in bare footsies and smiles.

She stretches her arms out,
in a long and lazy twirl;
till all are spun into,
and caught up in,
the waltz of her passing.

Her sweet perfumes waft over the
carbon dioxide cities,
and birds set the sweet melodies
to which she performs daily.

Occasionally a dark
and stormy northerner
will sweep her off her feet,
and whisk her across gray skies
in a rumba or two,
With a thunderous look
then just as quickly,
coldly vanish
leaving puddles of tears behind.

This blend of opposites
attracts the urchins,
who mark each tiny pond
as a place to sail paper boats,
and splash like a flying fish in.

I am in love with summer
she fills me with a passion
not felt in any other season
and I will be wed to her
until she leaves me with
a sudden fall,
and a wintry disposition.

She does not belong
to any one person
but to all of us,
yet still a man can dream,
with a bit of tall grass between
his teeth and a straw hat
casting wicker shadows on his face
as he rest beneath a maple
that bleeds sap not nearly as sweet
as Summer's fond embrace.


Spinning yesterdays into songs.

Come climb with me now
on a carousel that carries
each to journeys far away

Even old men ride it
becoming young lads again
high in the saddle,
chasing the winds of time
from their parchment faces.

The music lilts stretching innocent grins
where once sad visages bent.

Grandmas envision poodle skirts as they whirl,
once again just a girl,
gray hair,
now sun blond and flying
like a ponytail behind them.

Here all that remains
is young once more
for a brief ride around
the merry Calliope that hums
the notes of yesteryears.

Tiny toddlers clueless
only gape in awe and
marvel at the horses that
turn old into youth
and the youngest into giggles of joy
whistling by rapidly
in Anypark U.S.A.



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