the summer is over,
    the trees are all bare,
there is mist in the garden
    and frost in the air.
the meadows are empty
    and gathered the sheaves -
but isn't it lovely
    kicking up leaves!

john from the garden
    has taken the chairs;
it's dark in the evening
    and cold on the stairs.
winter is coming 
    and everyone grieves -
but isn' ( Read more... )

a road like brown ribbon,
a sky that is blue,
a forest of green
with that sky peeping through.

asters, deep purple,
a grasshopper's call,
today it is summer,
tomorrow is fall.

("september," by edwina h. falls, from sung under the silver umbrella: poems for young children, published 1935)

when the sun is strong
and the day is hot,
we move around
at a peaceful trot.
we don't wear much
in the way of clothes
and we squirt ourselves
with the garden hose.

("in august," from around and about, by marchette g. chute, published 1957)

when the scarlet cardinal tells
her dream to the dragonfly,
and the lazy breeze makes a nest in the trees,
and murmurs a lullaby,
it's 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's july.

when the heat like a mist veil floats,
and poppies flame in the rye,
and the ( Read more... )