Sweet Summer...part 3

Click links below for I began this poem the other day,to commemorate the tipping point of August's halfway mark! 💖💖💖 Halo of gold and maroon... Serenade of cricket-croon... Where the floral colour-spreeLures bard, butterfly... and bee; (the bees wouldn't sit still enough to give me a good shot 😅) Where the wonder of the worldSparkles in dew-gilt unfurled... Of gardens, bursting, and howWith earth’s tables heaped with chow... Halo of gold and maroonSerenade of cricket-croonMorn, noon night, vibrato-liltTrembles in ensembles, spiltWhere the sizzling heat wave broodsOver dark and still-life woodsWhere the floral colour-spreeLures bard, butterfly and beeWhere the cornfields grow and growLike infantry, row on rowWhere the florid landscape liesLike a Painter’s ParadiseWhere the wonder of the worldSparkles in dew-gilt unfurledFeeds the whine of combine-lootWeighs the wispy vine with fruitStuns the poet, middle-strideWith the ink of August-tideWith the hazy, lazy griefOf boughs, dense with sighing/dying leafOf gardens, bursting, and howWith earth’s tables heaped with chowOf the gard’ner, overcomeBy a seed’s volupt’ous sumOf the brook, bereft of layLyrics lost to reeds and clayOf the pigment of the roseFormula God only knowsOf wild lilies of the fieldSpilling in copious yieldOf the rush, before the hushAfter sedum’s school-girl blushOf fleet, bittersweet dog-daysOf summer’s soft-slipping waysOf the hummingbird that drinksFrom bloom founts; reds, purples, pinksOf hydrangea’s lavish crownPretty as a bridal gownOf orchards in quiescent formLike the calm before the stormOf kitchens filled with chop-sliceVinegar and pickling-spiceDill, parsley, basil, forayCanners never put awayMenus brightened with fresh voiceWhere the cook is spoiled for choiceWhile the spider spins and spinsWhile summer’s silk lining thinsWhile dust wafts o’er dusky dayWhile the barefoot children playWhile the mother collects artLost to touch but kept in heartWhile the fondness for each flow’rFalls prey to the baying hourFalls prey to Bygone’s clenched fistClutching at frayed fronds of mist © Janet Martin Of hydrangea’s lavish crownPretty as a bridal gown... Of kitchens filled with chop-sliceVinegar and pickling-spice... Dill, parsley, basil, foray... Canners never put away... Menus brightened with fresh voiceWhere the cook is spoiled for choice... While the spider spins and spinsWhile summer’s silk lining thinsWhile dust wafts o’er dusky day... While the barefoot children play...