Ah! Summertime

Throughout the years the poets sing
Of Summer, Winter, Fall, and Spring
And every poet has a reason
To prefer a certain season.
Why even Winter has been lauded,
Its icicles and snows applauded,
And autumn leaves so bold and bright
Inspired poets by this sight.
And all of us who do love Spring
Know why it makes the poets sing.

But Summer, Ah! the best of all
Inspires us more than Spring or Fall.
So many poets adore the sun,
So many write of Summer's fun--
The long, hot days, the summer breeze
That helps erase long Winter's freeze;
Picnics, swimming, outdoor cooking,
The tan that makes us all good-looking.

Vacation for the kids and teachers,
Wild fruits and nuts for all God's creatures.
The light-weight clothes and bathing suits,
Good-bye to heavy wools and boots"

The fireflies lighting up the night,
The lovely butterflies in flight
And Summer on the eastern shore
Is honored by the ocean's roar.
And all of us spend countless hours
Loving all the summer flowers;
And best of all the Summer's pleasures:
The clear blue skies -- its greatest treasures.
Of all the season's, Summer' s best,
It clearly outshines all the rest.

But wait! What is this I hear?
Dissenting voices in my ear.
Think about the sleepless nights,
Suffering from the insect bites;
Remember those who rave and rant
Plagued by the lowly little ant;
And the many rainy days
That turned blue skies into greys;
And thunder storms that woke the dead,
And lightning filled us all with dread--
Made trees crash down with a big thud
And turned your lovely lawn to mud.
The poison ivy gave you blisters
And poison oak that plagued your sisters;
The boring re-runs on TV
And nothing really good to see.
Summer trips to places sunny
That cost your family too much money;
The crawling deer ticks that appeared
And bit your children, as you feared;
The rabid fox that was seen
Ambling on your lovely green;
The baby birds killed by your cat,
Your children's tears because of that.
Your air-conditioner was a thrill --
Until you got that great big bill.

Enough! I've heard enough of Summer!
Of all the seasons --it's a bummer!

Oh, Wild West Wind, start to blow!
I'm getting ready for the snow.


Sylvia Honig
May 1995