Children Of Summer

Summer, you always slip in so gently as
high school graduations bring tears of
friends who know they must part.
I will try not to weep of fifty-five
years ago-
as I see the vision of my siblings
and I leap through sprinklers
bright with rainbows.
I promise, Summer,
I won't cry.

I recall the natural wall of
hydrangea blossoms of
green and blue in our yard.
Red roses so romantic on the
white trellis.
The Good Humor truck
jingled down the street.
Neighbor's children waved
large wands with giant
iridescent bubbles floating
high to the envy of the
cumulus clouds.
I promise, Summer,
I won't cry.

Oh Summer, you're our
lively maiden with a
honeysuckle crown.
The charming presence
of your rising moon monarch
in the eve casting her silver
cherish on weeping willows.
You sail through the ages,
but remain a debutante
emerging from the love
of spring.
I promise Summer,
I won't cry.

No, I cannot possibly
have a torrent of tears.
My sixty-six year birthday
will be in your beach days
month of June.
The iced tea cooling me as
nostalgia mists my eyes.
I dreamily walk by the
modest little home on
the sidewalk, the beloved
place, the streets of my
youth.
I'm in no need of my
walker-
as I'm a child again. ~