Sweet Summer- Part two

"Summer afternoon; summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language." Henry James Summer morning, afternoon and night are celebration-worthy, don't you agree?!compilation # 2  of summer mementos(sweet summer part one ) Sweet summer is mornings, swathed in soft-mist capeA rushing recurrence of wonder, agape... A landscape where lilies of garden and fieldAwes/Wows worship with whispers of Heaven revealed... Where work of an Artist anoints our gazeWith countryside canvases agog with praise... From fine feathered choristers filling the gladeWith joy for the new day the Lord has made Sweet summer is soaking in sun-shaded nooksWith cuppa hot java and basket of books Sweet summer’s to-do lists are not hard to bearOf tending the garden, then gleaning fresh fare... Sweet summer is ever the tenderest yenOf troubadour-tug of wars twixt plow and pen... Good Lord full of mercy, what is Woman to doWith sink full of dishes, and world full of You... Sweet summer is mornings, swathed in soft-mist capeA rushing recurrence of wonder, agapeA landscape where lilies of garden and fieldAwes/Wows worship with whispers of Heaven revealedWhere work of an Artist anoints our gazeWith countryside canvases agog with praiseFrom fine feathered choristers filling the gladeWith joy for the new day the Lord has madeImpressing the Creature, human-nature bentTo trust in their Teacher and thus be content Sweet summer is soaking in sun-shaded nooksWith cuppa hot java and basket of booksTo take a break from toil’s beck of grins and groansThat earns the sweet slumber of work-weary bonesFrom redeeming wisely each hour, for we knowThe truth of the precept; 'we reap what we sow'And it is not prudent to sit idle longNor is it idleness to join in the songThat trembles in tresses of maple and birchAbove grassy pews in an open-air church Sweet summer’s to-do lists are not hard to bearOf tending the garden, then gleaning fresh fareOf weeding and pruning and mowing for hoursTo enjoy the company of birds and flow’rsTo commune with the kind Creator of these;Hilltops fringed with stately silhouettes of treesMeadows hung from ethereal rafters, azureRivers full of laughter and fisherman’s lureLarkspur’s purple pleasure for butterflies, beesAnd we who delight in the Maker of these Sweet summer is ever the tenderest yenOf troubadour-tug of wars twixt plow and penGood Lord full of mercy, what is Woman to doWith sink full of dishes, and world full of YouWhere Time’s fleeting fuel, so briefly bestowsCreation’s crown jewel in every roseAnd Poet is eager to tame onto pageFond scenes to revisit when winter gales rageLike sweet summer morning, swathed in mint-green mistLike long summer evening, dust and dew kissed Like slow summer afternoons, muzzled, it seemsWhere breeze is too lazy to ruffle the streamsWhere the former riot of bird song and screechGrows quiet, save for the sea gulls at the beachWhere mothers are ready for tots to take napsAnd shake out the warm nest made of arms and lapsWhere Cat that Dog chases, gets a holidayWhere yon slope showcases sun and shadow playWhere God tips a treasure vault of petal-wealthWhere reeds turn russet, as they drink to their health Sweet summer is never presumptuous enoughTo give us too much of everything we loveThen, break its bread rev’rently, savour each crumbOf buttercup, daisy, of delphiniumAnd linger a little bit longer becauseWhat is today's Is, will be tomorrow’s WasSave, if by the grace of God He grants the inkTo press into poem endless poppy-pinkTo capture, like the fragrance of lavenderThe rapturous wonder of sweet, sweet summer ...because there is always a yesterday tuggingAlways a precious today that needs hugging Always tomorrow, tonight holds at bayAlways a moment slip-slipping awayAlways, in spite of  bygone's vast eons stilledAn eager emptiness waiting to be filledAh, sweet, sweetest summer, you do your best partAt keeping us younger/keening the hunger in years of the heartThough we sense Past's eloquence, hour by hourAs we collect happiness/holiness, flower by flow'r © Janet Martin Where Time’s fleeting fuel, so briefly bestowsCreation’s crown jewel in every rose...