| Author: | Terry Trainor | ISBN: | 9781476130477 |
| Publisher: | Terry Trainor | Publication: | December 14, 2011 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition | Language: | English |
| Author: | Terry Trainor |
| ISBN: | 9781476130477 |
| Publisher: | Terry Trainor |
| Publication: | December 14, 2011 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords Edition |
| Language: | English |
A Summer Dream
Walking for some hours I stopped in a wild meadow to take my boots off and rest awhile,
It is a perfect summers day the hum of bees in the near distant soothed me so I sat down,
The trees in this meadow are in full foliage, leaves having darkened giving rich sobriety,
I sat down onto rich green grass about four inches deep and wondered about my surroundings.
Flowers of the most brilliant kinds, lay scattered over mead and mountain, heath and glen,
The sun blazed down and made the day bright and hot, the heart of man reposes at the sight,
The songs of birds began to grow faint as I lay on this spot head in hands cupping my chin,
All this and corn in the next field pale, nearly ready for harvest, a good year for crops.
A gentle warm breeze flicked the fringe of my long hair, as cool as a sweet babbling brook,
My eyes began to lose focus as I lay in this wonder of wonders, nature, most beautiful,
I dozed, dreamed of my love, waiting for me to return, smiling, flowing red hair, blowing,
Her hard work in the fields, giving her a grace that can only be got by fitness and strength.
My home, put her dream to one side, a tiny cottage, besides a water mead, such a landscape,
July is the noontide of the year's day, a long still hour, a summer prime in a noiseless air,
Only a catbird, looking villainless, and "gallow-minded" in the hang dog air, rests on a bough,
Skulking most of the time in thick undergrowth, with a scared, haunted look when he appears.
A Summer Dream
Walking for some hours I stopped in a wild meadow to take my boots off and rest awhile,
It is a perfect summers day the hum of bees in the near distant soothed me so I sat down,
The trees in this meadow are in full foliage, leaves having darkened giving rich sobriety,
I sat down onto rich green grass about four inches deep and wondered about my surroundings.
Flowers of the most brilliant kinds, lay scattered over mead and mountain, heath and glen,
The sun blazed down and made the day bright and hot, the heart of man reposes at the sight,
The songs of birds began to grow faint as I lay on this spot head in hands cupping my chin,
All this and corn in the next field pale, nearly ready for harvest, a good year for crops.
A gentle warm breeze flicked the fringe of my long hair, as cool as a sweet babbling brook,
My eyes began to lose focus as I lay in this wonder of wonders, nature, most beautiful,
I dozed, dreamed of my love, waiting for me to return, smiling, flowing red hair, blowing,
Her hard work in the fields, giving her a grace that can only be got by fitness and strength.
My home, put her dream to one side, a tiny cottage, besides a water mead, such a landscape,
July is the noontide of the year's day, a long still hour, a summer prime in a noiseless air,
Only a catbird, looking villainless, and "gallow-minded" in the hang dog air, rests on a bough,
Skulking most of the time in thick undergrowth, with a scared, haunted look when he appears.
