September Holiday

A blue lake dreaming Among sun-tanned hills; Bright leaves of poplar trees Drift silently down Upon the quiet surface Of the water, And rest there Like tired butterflies!

Limpid tones from a silver flute Fall upon the end-of-summer air Losing themselves, As do our cares, In the vast blueness Of the sky!

And thru the warm night The lake washed the shore, Making a sound That was like soft laughter Of a woman In her lover's arms!