Come Summer

Under cinnamon sticks wearing green berets,
that’s where I’ll spend my summer days,
hoping to find some welcome shade,
because freckles and speckles in heat are made.
So lay me low of that old suns glare,
peaceful and quiet,
come sit with me there,
beneath the boughs of some grand old oak,
till autumn taketh away thy cloak,
then jilted branches hanging bare,
will know, come summer,
We’ll be there…




©️2022 Lathen Griffiths