Summer Sings

The heat is on,
The light is warm,
The mangoes reborn,
The mid-afternoon yawn,
That’s summer’s song.

The heather is soft,
Springy and clean,
The ‘morn sunny and preened,
The skies – a clear blue,
Spring’s son is Summer, so true.

The flowers are pleasing,
Cold – drinks become very appeasing,
True, the heat makes for heavy breathing,
But that makes our heart beating,
Blood pumps and sadness abate,
As we play under the sun,
While Summer’s awake,
And sing the song sung by the crickets,
While Summer gazes – happily at this racket.