June’s mid-day glow
turned my daughter’s pale cheeks
rosy as flowers
Copyright 2022 Brenda Davis Harsham
Notes: The heat arrived yesterday. Sleep has eluded me, but June is a perfect month for poetry, where even the trees write poetry to the wind.
THE MONTH OF JUNE
by Pablo Neruda
Green was the silence,
wet was the light
the month of June
trembled like a butterfly.
by Amy Lowell
Above me spreads the hot, blue mid-day sky,
Far down the hillside lies the sleeping lake
Lazily reflecting back the sun,
And scarcely ruffled by the little breeze
Which wanders idly through the nodding ferns.
The blue crest of the distant mountain, tops
The green crest of the hill on which I sit;
And it is summer, glorious, deep-toned summer,
The very crown of nature’s changing year
When all her surging life is at its full.