And gently falls the bakula
Upon the grass I tread
Fragrant flowers
Like fallen stars from the sky
A hundred poems to be read.

As I drink my tea
Through the window I see -
The lantanas growing tall
Besides the creepers on the wall.
Orange orbs on stalks of green
A butterfly  - all tangerine -
Suckling blooms, fluttering by
Beneath a cloudless, placid sky.
Flowering trees - no longer ****
Full of colour and ripening fruits.
The world it seems is blossoming
With summer and her offerings.

Some days are good
Or I think they really are
I soak up the sun
And reach for the stars
Some days are bad
I suppose they really are
The sun seems too hot
And the stars — too far.