Summer Shower

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A drop fell on the apple tree,
Another on the roof;
A half a dozen kissed the eaves,
And made the gables laugh.

A few went out to help the brook,
That went to help the sea.
Myself conjectured, Were they pearls,
What necklaces could be!

The dust replaced in hoisted roads,
The birds jocoser sung;
The sunshine threw his hat away,
The orchards spangles hung.

The breezes brought dejected lutes,
And bathed them in the glee;
The East put out a single flag,
And signed the fete away.


– Emily Dickinson

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Summer Dawn

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My sleeping children are still flying dreams
in their goose-down heads.
The lush of the river singing morning songs
Fish watch their ceilings turn sun-white.
The grey-green pike lances upstream
Kale, like mermaid’s hair
points the water’s drift.
All is morning hush
and bird beautiful.

I only,
I didn’t have flu.


– Spike Milligan

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A Summer’s Evening

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As I walk down the streets,
I hear the sweet singing of the birds,
I feel the warm breeze on my face,
I smell the fresh summer air,
I see the smile on everyones faces,
It makes me laugh.

I approach my house,
I look forward to a hot drink and a biscuit,
I walk through the door,
And I smell the sweet scent of the air freshener,
I throw off my shoes,
I slip into my slippers,
And I sit in front of the roaring fire, as the night gets closer.


– Sophie Shaw


A Summer Storm

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There’s going to be a thunderstorm quite soon,
The air is still, the sky is growing darker,
Clouds tower above and menacingly loom.
I’m sitting in the summer house beneath
The apple tree, late afternoon. Out there
And unaware of me are lots of birds.
They seem to lead such active busy lives:
Two swallows flutter in among and under-
neath the apple leaves to seek out flies
That congregate and shelter there, in vain;
The little perky nut-brown jenny wren
With jaunty tail is like a tiny mouse,
Now here, now there, and everywhere she goes;
On centre stage the tattered father blackbird
Who all summer long has toiled each day
His ever hungry importuning young
To feed is here attended by two portly
Daughters whose gaping bills he tries to fill;
From time to time the curious bright-eyed robin
Comes to sit upon the chimonière
From where he looks at me, the only bird
To know that I am watching from within.

The stage begins to clear then when a peal
Of thunder says the storm is nearly here.
The pattering on the wooden roof begins
To quicken, rain falls upon the paving stones
Outside in furious floods until again
It slackens and becomes desultory.
The stage is empty now, the curtain down,
All actors gone save for the garden toad
Who slowly crawls across the dampened grass
Enjoying all this wetness everywhere,
With raindrops sliding off his wrinkled skin.
And afterwards when now the storm has passed
A cool and welcome freshness fills the air,
The curtain lifts, and one by one the cast
Returns to centre stage, the play goes on.


– Pete Crowther


Hot Summer Night

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It was stifling in bed yet you
lay with a sheet undulating
with your breath, like a sail
in a gentle breeze.

I thought you were asleep until
I saw your hand move to where
your garden blooms, and your
smile said you weren’t.


– Jerry Hughes


A Summer Morn

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Season of mist and mellow fruit,
Of blossom and scented air.
Bird song and busy bee,
seem to inhabit everywhere
Grass green horizon,
velvet blue morning sky.
A little bird with a sweet song,
is singing on wing high in the sky.
Dew laden petals sparkle,
under the new day’s sun.
While somewhere in the distance,
children are laughing and having fun.


– David Harris


Summer On The Farm

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The summer was very hot.
We hadn’t had a lot of rain.
The crops were growing well…
So, we could not complain.

On my parents’ small farm
Plants grew in straight rows.
They were fertilized and hoed.
I toiled as soil dusted my toes.

Other kids were having fun
They were on summer vacation.
It was a time to swim and play.
It was a break from their education.

For me, I became a helping hand.
Summer brought responsibility.
Produce was to be sold at the market.
It was a moneymaking activity.

After all the hours in the sun…
Finally, a tiring day was ending.
The big truck was fully loaded.
Our backs were sore from bending.

Mother said, ‘Let’s have a special treat.’
Holding a muskmelon that was supreme…
She cut two halves and scooped out seeds.
Then filled the empty hollow with ice cream.

The long drudgery of the day seemed to fade
As each delicious mouthful satisfied our palates.
When the final spoonful was slowly consumed
Unaminous approval was cast with smiling ballots.


– Theresa Ann Moore