Summer’s Eve

Simply splendid is the day,
Wet black trees upon sky grey.
Moist dirt encasing roots,
Not a human is afoot.

On this morning but a breeze
No greens to rustle, finally leaves.
Naught but raindrops on my chin,
On my face naught but a grin.

Doth the greyness ever end?
In all kindness one contends
That Sun should soon befall the day,
that stillness might be burned away.

But nay, I wish these rains to stay!
These trees to bask in Heaven's name,
This soil to run amuck and breath,
These birds to hunt with further ease.

Encircled thus by dripping reeves,
A truly splendid Summer's Eve.

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