Fountains of flowers, growing so fast.
Such a shame that none of them last.
Summer blossoms soon will wane,
They’ll be back next year again.
Bees await the autumn flowers,
Checking out the wooded bowers.
Twittering blackbirds guard their land:
Will their fights get out of hand?
Swallows swoop with arcing wings,
Ever returning for endless Springs.
It’s early July, just past midsummer,
Every green leaf is a newcomer.
Earlier dawn and longer light,
Durable daylight and shorter night.
British weather will still prevail:
Sunny spells and storms with hail.
Winter always is a ******,
I thank Goodness we have our Summer.

Paul Butters