Alessander's Mad Poets (AMP!) Forum Prompt: Summer Poem

Like I previously stated, I really don't have any preconceived plan about prompts, but I felt it was time AMP! needed a new one.

As we all can testify by looking out the window, it's summer (at least in the Northern Hemisphere, sorry Southern).  Seasons sway the artist - whether it be Winter's somberness, Autumns change, or Spring's rebirth - As Wallace Stevens put it, "We are physical beings in a physical world; the weather is one of the things that we enjoy, one of the unphilosophical realities. The state of the weather soon becomes a state of mind." Just think Vivaldi's "Four Seasons".

So, on that note, since it's the beginning of summer, I think a summer prompt is in order.  This prompt can be whatever form or style you wish.  The only requirement is that it deals specifically with a summer theme.  Also, it need not be up-beat, celebratory or sensual - though traditionally summer has entailed those.  Summer can mean whatever you want it to mean.  Here's two brief examples, though there are countless others:

"Summer in the South"

The Oriole sings in the greening grove
As if he were half-way waiting,
The rosebuds peep from their hoods of green,
Timid, and hesitating.
The rain comes down in a torrent sweep
And the nights smell warm and pinety,
The garden thrives, but the tender shoots
Are yellow-green and tiny.
Then a flash of sun on a waiting hill,
Streams laugh that erst were quiet,
The sky smiles down with a dazzling blue
And the woods run mad with riot.

                    - Paul Laurence Dunbar

"Summer"

Remember the days of our first happiness,
how strong we were, how dazed by passion,
lying all day, then all night in the narrow bed,
sleeping there, eating there too: it was summer,
it seemed everything had ripened
at once. And so hot we lay completely uncovered.
Sometimes the wind rose; a willow brushed the window.

But we were lost in a way, didn't you feel that?
The bed was like a raft; I felt us drifting
far from our natures, toward a place where we'd discover nothing.
First the sun, then the moon, in fragments,
stone through the willow.
Things anyone could see.

Then the circles closed. Slowly the nights grew cool;
the pendant leaves of the willow
yellowed and fell. And in each of us began
a deep isolation, though we never spoke of this,
of the absence of regret.
We were artists again, my husband.
We could resume the journey.

                               - Louis Gluck

Anyhow, as per the usual Standard Operating Procedure (SOP), if you do write a summer poem, I would like you to submit it to the group, and somewhere put "Summer Prompt AMP!" something or other to let us know so that we can have a context.  I tend to feature prompt responses - just a small kudos.  Well, that is all my brethren.  Have a great day.  I'll be drinking a corona on the beach for you landlocked ;P