Flick through the album of our Summers past,
And choose the dried flowers tucked within the tome;
A family car trip, dappled glades to roam,
The smell of petrichor, lichen-embossed stone,
Gentle green moss inviting gossamer gaze.
Another page, a meadow bathed in sun’s haze,
Long feathered grass in hand, a switch to trail
Whispering ‘gainst rough trunks of bordering trees.
Turn soft to tumble down a churchyard’s angled flanks,
Laugh-breathing, crushing long and fragrant lawn;
Then hop across a mountain stream, wettened sheen
Varnishing soft-edged black stones, sharp drawn.
Eternal Summer of our childhood days,
Sustain us through the parting of the ways.