Summertime Poem Novels & Stories

Penny trembled as she opened her mouth slightly and read Darryl’s poem. “Over old trees wreathed with ancient vines and flying evening crows. “Under a small bridge at a nearby cottage, a stream flows. “On an ancient road in the west wind, a lean horse goes. “Westward the setting sun goes. “Far from home was the heartbroken one!” Westward the setting sun goes. Far from home was the heartbroken one! The entire city rumbled in cheers in the blink of an eye. It was a great poem! There was nothing like it!

That very summit looked so far away. The wind howled through the lower branches of the majestic trees and through half opened tents. Men gathered around fires, sat and sang songs: Green green grass & willows; Weaving my sorrow. My yearning for thee. My yearning for thee. My yearning for thee. Quietly waiting for your return. Quietly waiting for your return. Tell me, my dear. Won't you come home? Won't you come home? Your homeland is longing for thee. Your homeland is longing for thee.

# FLASHBACK It was summer, one of the four Earth's seasons, that goes after spring and foreshadows Autumn. Kevin glanced at the trees bearing fruits and feels Summer is the best season ever. The warmth and everything make it perfect. No wonder most families like to go on vacation during summer. He went back to the mirror for the umpteenth time checking himself out again. He was dressed in a checkered shirt themed with a pair of blue jeans and black shoes. His mind kept beating fast, trying not to lose his focus on one of the important things he wanted to do today. He noticed a little pimple on the upper part of his head and that alone makes him feel he is not perfect.

“ ‘Summertime.’ ” Conor smiled and ran his hand over his guitar. “All right, bro. ‘Summertime’ it is.” Titus counted them in, and they all kicked in with the beat, perfectly in tune. I leaned my head to the side as Conor begun to sing. You and me, girl, we were meant to be, Wave surfin’, sunset kissin’, Dawn ’til dusk, dusk ’til dawn, But you were a summertime dream, Never meant to be, oh girl . . .

18 which I luckily read last night. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And Summer’s lease hath...” I hear her voice fade in the background as my eyes feel heavier. I don’t know how long I slept last night but I know whatever amount I managed to sleep last night wasn’t enough for me.

"A Wood Stream-- The threading sunbeams quiver, The bending bushes shiver, O'er the little shadowy river-- There's only one more rhyme that occurs to me and that's 'liver.' Why did you leave it out?" Emily writhed. "Wind Song-- I have shaken the dew in the meadows From the clover's creamy gown-- Pretty, but weak. June--June, for heaven's sake, girl, don't write poetry on June. It's the sickliest subject in the world. It's been written to death."

You know we tell each other love poems when we are alone or when we are staring at the stars. "I know but there is a particular one... Don't tell me that you have forgotten so easily. Don't tell me that you forgot our favourite poem or else I will get mad at you for real this time." "Let me think, I can't forget it since it's our favourite love poem." He racked his brain, "I got it, I got it.." "Tell me now." "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?.." "No no stop. That is not it." She stopped him.

The poem went this way, Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there; I did not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uprising rush Oh quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die.

Standing over the porch, overlooking the view of the Mountains, brought up so many fond memories. The green valleys downwards and alive browns of earth - woods and the rich humus - reminded her when things were just simpler. The smelt of fresh tropical air signalled that summer was coming - and summer was the time of joy.