Really enjoyed reading this today.
Awake! you sleepy-headed lark
and whistle us up a summer in the meadow.
We’re tired of the chill wind
clanging the shutters against the pane
and rattling the last cold leaves on the oak.
The cardinal sings his varied tune
in the barren branches, but we want a warmer song,
the trill of sun on new-mown hay.
Come now, you wayward songstress,
lever up the sun to her place on a higher plane,
and sing the dew onto the grass.
We’ve counted down the solstice minutes,
too few to hold the dying rays of the sun,
bring us a longer day from a more temperate latitude.
Warm our hearts with your morning song,
heralding the heat of a rising summer day.