Poetry Sunday: July by Susan Hartley Swett
Yes, it is still July but not for long. Enjoy it while you may. July by Susan Hartley Swett When the scarlet cardinal tells Her dream to the dragon fly, And the lazy breeze makes a nest in the trees, And murmurs a lullaby, It is July. When the tangled cobweb pulls The cornflower's cap awry, And the lilies tall lean over the wall To bow to the butterfly, It is July. When the heat like a mist veil floats, And poppies flame in the rye, And the silver note in the streamlet's throat Has softened almost to a sigh, It is July. When the hours are so still that time Forgets them, and lets them lie 'Neath petals pink till the night stars wink At the sunset in the sky, It is July. When each finger-post by the way Says that Slumbertown is nigh; When the grass is tall, and the roses fall, And nobody wonders why, It is July.