Summer, by Laura Munteanu

You say the summer is a-coming in,

so sing the pigeon and cuckoo.

I want to take you with me,

to share everything that I do.

Come walk with me by waterfalls,

in the silence of the night,

and catch the stars laughing in the stream,

shining, singing; they’re so bright.

Follow me through field, hedge, and ditch,

through the brambles we will walk,

hands held tight in the moonbeams bright

of such things, we two, will talk.


Catch the ember glow,

follow ashes flying, so high,

through the branches and leaves of the wood,

up to the sparkling sky.

You hold high the arch of time,

deep within your chest,

as we dance across this ocean green,

fated not yet to rest.

So come fuchsia, yew and old grey oak,

come join the dance of time,

from acorn, stretch to ancient bole,

then bow fall and decline.

To the soil return once more,

as do all we mortal folk,

pull the plough of consequence,

tight-tethered in the yoke.


In evening’s sparkle light

we guess the wonder,

as the sky rings loud,

with the summer thunder.

Our heart’s beat loud,

their drum of joy,

as the raindrops fall,

free for us all to enjoy.

So join me there

in the forgotten raths,

or in their surrounding

flowered, path.

For nature opens

her secrets here

and mortal madness

is fled with fear.


Come hold me tight

and we will ride away,

to where the waves

do sing and play,

beneath where the  stars

swim and soar,

and the silver waterfalls

do make their roar.

With a beaten drum

you will catch the tune,

as we vanish

from this world too soon.


So bless me and call my name.

Garner me with the dew.

Weave me garb of summer leaf,

to prove that you are true.

I’ll carry you to the gardens green,

beneath the mountaintop so high,

and through the terraces

we will stroll beneath the spinning sky.


Where badgers sing and foxes cry,

and rabbits bask on a summer’s day,

with trees bent heavy with bright birdsong,

above where the otters play.

Here your memory starts once more to drift

and heal your hearts smoldering rift,

free from the smoke and daily toil,

swinging in the mortal coil.

So don’t crucify and hopefully die,

good hope and peace is this.

Here live all the opportunities,

that once you thought you missed.

Remember that that’s all you need

no meaningless ambition,

forgotten and the slate wiped clean

for such is our condition.


Stand with me by this waterfall.

Down and down it goes.

This night maybe we’ll follow it

to where nobody knows.

I close my eyes and I hear the sound

of this bloody wheel that turns around.

So growth seed

and bloweth mead

and sing Cuckoo.


Then if you listen

you’ll hear a voice in the dark.

Not the voice of man

nor the song of the lark.

It’s a whisper made

of your consequence

from your time on the battlefields,

time on the fence.

It will whisper

of the things you did do,

celebrate the wonder

that was once you.

Then it reminds you

of your long lost friends.

Then it’s silent,

the living end.




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