When all of God's own wildflowers are in bloom
And sun shine brightly most part of the day
And butterflies o'er lush meadows play.
Lighthearted skylark songster of the wing
High o'er the quiet and lonely moorland sing
Above her nest cloaked by the tangled heath
Her charming song so exquisitely sweet.
So mellow the gentle breath of June day breeze
The birds rejoicing on the leafy trees
And dappled trout in dappled bed of the stream
Bask in the sun, their spotted skins agleam.
Francis Dugan, June
1 comment:
Beautiful month, beautiful poem. (In my comment on your above post, I am sure you know that I didn't mean we have to go back to FDR to find a thoughtful articulate President. Just back to last year.
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