The flame flickered,Drawing shapes from the shadows,As the candle's wick withered,The sun rose.But your eyes were closed so tight,You never considered the light.
I miss the summer.The cool breeze that would blowThe memories of running and screamingChasing that sense of joy.I miss the summer.The sense of freedom that it broughtLike the world was mine to conquer...for three months at leastThe inescapable heat that never leftRefuge always sought out by those who couldn't bear it.I miss the summer.The times of pure joy and relaxationAll the day dreams that had meaningAnd all of the brain freezes from ice creamI miss the summer.I miss being a child.I miss being able to run around and not have to worry about the consequences.
Down fell the snow-Each flake falling with grace-Her hair stood out like a flame-Her smile causes the cold to melt away-She dances, softly pounding the ground below-The feeling of tranquility she creates-Her eyes the color of Destin's waters, she may be calm but never tamed-Her dance resumes and all sound fades away-An endless show-A few steps misplaced-A new pace of song, a stumble, yet she recovers all the same-The snow stops, the lights fade, there's an applause and that's the end of an infinite play-
"Reach for the stars" -A phrase used to provide a sense of determination -Used to provide hope -A hope to escape society's iron grip --But I'm tired of reaching -I'm tired of reaching towards a sky that doesn't seem to want me -My arms are tired --My heart is tired --I don't know if I can reach for much longer -Will I fall to the ground like Lucifer fell from Heaven --Or will I reach to touch the stars?
Consulting summer's clock,But half the hours remain.I ascertain it with a shock --I shall not look again.The second half of joyIs shorter than the first.The truth I do not dare to knowI muffle with a jest.
The frog half fearful jumps across the path,And little mouse that leaves its hole at eveNimbles with timid dread beneath the swath;My rustling steps awhile their joys deceive,Till past,--and then the cricket sings more strong,And grasshoppers in merry moods still wearThe short night weary with their fretting song.Up from behind the molehill jumps the hare,Cheat of his chosen bed, and from the bankThe yellowhammer flutters in short fearsFrom off its nest hid in the grasses rank,And drops again when no more noise it hears.Thus nature's human link and endless thrall,Proud man, still seems the enemy of all.
The Winters are so short --I'm hardly justifiedIn sending all the Birds away --And moving into Pod --Myself -- for scarcely settled --The Phoebes have begun --And then -- it's time to strike my Tent --And open House -- again --It's mostly, interruptions --My Summer -- is despoiled --Because there was a Winter -- once --And al the Cattle -- starved --And so there was a Deluge --And swept the World away --But Ararat's a Legend -- now --And no one credits Noah --