I hear the song of Summer,
It hums with every breeze.
And robins sing with ecstasy
High in the fruitful trees.
The spice bush spreads it's fragrance
By bluebells etched in sunlit glow.
The dogwoods bloom in ruffled white,
Velvet roses blend in radiant row.
Lambs sleep in meadows of moonbeam clover,
On hilltops bright with Queen Anne's lace.
Across the dusk, gleam firefly wings,
As night drifts down in God's silver grace.
Elisabeth Weaver Winstead
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