Summer’s here, the hum, the beat, the chime what better day to gather in words, for to make a rhyme

This high, holy day of our ancestral line consider it still, may we, a hallowed time.

Summer holds us in her tender measured glow

Making noontime shadows to barely show, now distant memories of winter snow turn to countless healthy weeds to hoe.

Summer’s long, long days to bend to our work and reap, catch we a moment of raging life within our winter keep

Mound we up lofty piles of hay, and pull our heavily loaded carts away.

Summers reapers, vigilant keepers picking every straw, stacking nature’s gifts of abundance in the hungry maw.

We work and work in summer’s haze, remembering winter’s bite, now we enjoy the wealthy rays of summer’s golden light.

Nursing along the tender young to show them off when summer’s done.

Not every patch or line is as a scare on her earthly shine, not every tree cut is a sin, amen for a fallen friend, but here a humble home for men.

God loves his toiling crew, that paints below the sky so blue.

Sun beams on the crowns of our heads one and all,  quench us in cool summer’s water’s fall.

In memory now to turn again, to summer’s resplendent journey’s end.

Doug Moore, June 21, 2011