If it were given me to choose one season of the year
When everything I’d longed for would just suddenly appear,
I’d choose the warmth of summer with its pleasant, carefree days
When at an outdoor concert you’d hear Chopin’s Polonaise.
The dawn would break, the day announced by rooster’s raucous crow.
The teasing fragrance that I smell is Grandma’s biscuit dough.
I quickly dress in play clothes that befit my fourth grade frame
And slide the upstairs railing down as Grandma calls my name.
The yellow checkered tablecloth is set for just us four;
When Grandpa comes, he brings my cousin, Merle, whom I adore.
Forgetting all our manners, we chow down the eggs and ham
And smother grandma’s biscuits with her fresh blackberry jam.
I love this country kitchen with its woodstove standing tall.
A pail with sticks of kindling sits against the papered wall.
A bench holds pails of water, a blue dipper hangs above,
It seems that everywhere I look there’re signs of Grandma’s love.
This summer day we ride the wagon; Grandpa’s gathering hay.
We jump around so much that Grandpa sends us on our way.
The nearby barn’s our favorite place; it smells of milk and cats,
Of cows and leather, dried manure, tobacco juice and bats.
The newborn calf just makes us laugh; its mother stares and chews.
We’re careful where we walk because we seldom wear our shoes.
I love the smell of baby chicks and press them to my cheeks;
The pin pricks on my face are caused by tiny yellow beaks.
This summer day we spread a blanket ‘neath the apple tree.
Our grandma’s baking cookies; they’re molasses, we agree.
Inhaling the aroma, I chase down a butterfly;
A hummingbird intent on food, ignores us and flies by.
It seems that all my senses burst alive at summertime.
The fragrant honey suckle with its nectar so sublime.
The mating call of bullfrogs from the nearby fishing pond;
A meadow full of daisies you can see and far beyond.
I kiss the morning roses climbing there along the rail
And pick some yellow buttercups beside an old deer trail.
The bumblebees, the apple trees, the smell of new-mown hay
Take part in nature’s symphony: “A Perfect Summer Day.”
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