Summer Child

August 31, 1991|By Lois L. Jones

What shall I give for a summer's gift . . .

A cloud of fireflies all adrift

In a sea of emerald grass.

Or perhaps a cap of Queen Anne's lace

Picked from my sweet secret placeWhere butterflies and hoptoads pass.

What shall I put in your waiting hand . . .

Pond pebbles dug from the shimmering sand,

iGilded and glowing there.

Or a bracelet of clover woven with reed

thistledown puffs studded with seed,

Afloat in the summer air.

What song shall I sing for a summer's tune . . .

A piping of crickets serenading the moon,

Played on the wind in the trees.

Or a riff of wren call, clear and bright,

To wake the sun, to end the night,

Soft on the morning breeze.

What shall I wish in dusk's lavender glow

the midsummer star hanging low,

So near, yet so far away . . .

That as you grow young and I grow old,

All our tomorrows be brushed with gold,

The gold of a summer's day.

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