Poem Hunter
JS ( / )


Hot beams lance down
Melting the ice away
The wintry wind wails no longer
This cold August snow
Turns into December's golden feast

Birds fly in formation;
Tree leaves sway from side to side;
Clouds gather in small huddles,
discussing the weather;
Grass shoots shoot up once more,
their roots replenished;
A Phoenix nearby hums his Ode;
Tranquility is in place,
after the long bitter wait;
Alive, now, is the world

The chill of Summer may be gone,
but Summer shall never be still.

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