A Tale of the Wildwoods 3: Summer arrives

And when the beautiful summer happened to come…
Upon the glades and vales of the wildwoods
The Mountain stood quietly by the forest side
Sniffing the sweet smell come from fresh growing flower shrubs
The happy birds come flying back home
Followed by all pretty insects and the boar herd
The skies are tinted with blue skirmish
Sometimes it seemed it will rain, but it wouldnt
The tomatoes ripen fast and blush deeply
Whenever the black beetles walk up to her for a little chat
The sun shine brightly, amused at all reunions
The fine community knew many, many happy times
This was one of those beautiful moments, exhilarating
Antelopes walk majestically beneath the tree branches
And squirrels hide behind the branches, watching
“Awww, do you see that?” the pink footed Doves quiz themselves
For in a sudden, a young seed came sprouting from the last snow dot
How joyful it was, the Mountain wore a dark gown
Wondering who dared to admire her triangular shape
For her lover, the cold Ice-King had travelled far, far away to another land
Carrying with himself; all stray winds, both little and mighty
To find another lover, but she believed not that
For she heard it as a rumor from the busybody grey Wolf
The Pines look quite taller, for the snow has left their frost-bitten roots
And when they look down, they feel good about themselves
“Oh, how awlfully painful the frost bite was on our foot”
The crickets wonder, leaping from a grass leaf to another
Allowing the wet airs to sift through their fine long body muscles
“The dead Earth is alive!” They yell in utmost joy and unison
“Look at the Mountain, must she dress scantily
Now the Ice-King has no use for her iniquities?”
A confused Wolf said, hiding his face from the suns light
“And what beauty she has brought forth”, a confused Linnet replied
“The flowers blossom in magnificient desires
The tree leaves are greener, and the airs milder
But are all these, the only wealth of the summer?”
The philosophical Woodpecker asked as he shook his head
For to him, the soul of living and happiness
Comes not in the summer nor the winter

This is the third in the series of Wildwood poetry written and posted in this blog.

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