This song is called  sun of June. Or,
the self-invention of wildflowers.

Or, the sweetened fragrance of the outdoors
before the damp scent of dusk descends.

With the painted gold flitting through the woods
and wild lilies in all the right spots

silver blades of marsh grass stand up tall
"I will never desert you."

Desertion inevitably wears earthtones, like a thin smile,
this recollected song.