The morning is Sunlight — rainlight . . . O morning of blowing rainbows! It glistens and sings Like a sea-shell Out of cool, curling waters.

But there’s a full moon risin’ Let’s go dancin’ in the light We know where the music’s playin’ Let’s go out and feel the night.

By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer’s best of weather And autumn’s best of cheer.

Season, project, and vacation done. One more year in everybody’s life. Add a notch to the old hunting knife Time keeps testing with a horny thumb.

Too beautiful to go back to sleep The morning sprite before the sun Black silhouetted trees that edge the world Respeak stillness as night’s undone.

Ask how the sunset looked between the wind going Down and the moon coming up and I would struggle To tell the how of it.

Shadows caught in a blink. Like a quick kiss; One wishes for more But it suddenly turns to leave, Dragging summer away.

Listen! you hear the grating roar Of pebbles which the waves draw back, and fling, At their return, up the high strand, Begin, and cease, and then again begin.

Open the window, and let the air Freshly blow upon face and hair And fill the room, as it fills the night, With the breath of the rain’s sweet might.

You, in the park, feeding the pigeons You cheering for the bees You with cats in your voice in the morning, feeding cats You protecting the river You are who I love.

For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, with joy that is unacclaimed.

The summer morn is bright and fresh, the birds are darting by As if they loved to breast the breeze that sweeps the cool clear sky.

The air was soft, the stars so fine, the promise of every cobbled alley so great, that I thought I was in a dream.

How did it get so late so soon? It’s night before it’s afternoon. December is here before it’s June. My goodness how the time has flewn.

My first roses brought me to my senses. All my furies, I launched them like paper boats in the algaed pond behind my house.

Peacefully The quiet stars came out, one after one; The holy twilight fell upon the sea, The summer day was done.

Though I lack the art To decipher it, No doubt the next chapter In my book of transformations Is already written. I am not done with my changes.

When skies are deepest blue above, And flow’rs aflush, — then most I love To start, while early dews are damp, And wend my way in woodland tramp.

The Ocean has its silent caves, Deep, quiet, and alone; Though there be fury on the waves, Beneath them there is none.

So white, so green, so blue, so golden . . . so neat, so clean, frilled with the hues of fall flowers and growing grass . . .