Gentle summer now is coming,
Singing are the busy builders,
Humming is the scented meadow,
Hissing goes the dimpling streamlet,
Soon the rose-bush will be laden
With its velvet, bowing blossoms.
Then the clumsy bee will wander
O’er its fleshy, clustering petals,
Then like someone deep in study,
Staring at the same old grass-blade,
With its head to groundward drooping,
Thinking as with heart of sorrow.
Trailing woodbine in the hedges
Sends a perfume sweet and pleasant.
So a lark above is singing
With a voice that rings the bluebells.
Dancing o’er the golden benweeds,
Flying o’er the dotted daisies,
Wandering past the scented clover.
Flits a butterfly of summer.
Herbert McCready Age 13