Summertime Poem Novels & Stories

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.

he asks in a soft, whispering voice, his blue eyes piercing my soul, and I can't deny his request. I clear my throat, feeling a wave of nervousness surge within me. "My love came from afar Over the stars Beyond the horizon My love, my love Your softest kiss Cannot compare to the summer breeze My love, my love Kiss me like the summer breeze" I recite the poem slowly, my eyes fixed on his lips as he moves toward me. As I finish the poem, he comes even closer, his lips almost meeting mine. However, I turn my face, and his lips land only on my cheek.

Then, came the clink of glasses. “I heard you haven’t touched Summer in seven years. Why are you holding out on a beauty like that?” “Are you crazy? Everyone in our circle knows that John only sleeps with virgins. No matter how pretty Summer is, she’s been tainted by someone else. How could she compare to you? At least you are innocent.” Anna let out a shy, coquettish protest. A chill ran through my entire body. Even my hands began to tremble. It felt as though I had been dragged back to the darkest moment of my life, the memory I tried hardest never to think about.

Harmony prances in my head in agreement, she too longs to be in her mates arms back. I deviate from the subject to comment on the big pyres that caught my attention. I hear music and people laughing, the pack members are definitely having a good time. The smell of barbecue and food is making me salivate but Atticus makes a beeline to the mansion taking us further away from the crowd, “Atticus, what is all this? “Is Litha, our version of Midsummer celebration. “Its beautiful” “No, my love, you are the most beautiful.”

Her eyes stayed on mine and expressed concern, like that of a gentle summer moon casting soft light into a starry sky. I drew a breath, agonizing under the load of my problems like the heavy and depressing heat of a summer storm cloud. "My love" became fashionable as I spoke, the cadence almost soothing, eliciting that image of a soft summer whisper. "There is a ghost enemy I've been fighting," I said, taking a moment to pause for breath and gather myself, like a summer storm preparing, gathering slowly the magnitude of its strength before unloading. Kalmia's gaze never strayed from mine, her piercing stare as sharp and pointed as the tip of a summer arrow to urge me on.

"I don't think you need to do that, Uncle Louis. That building must be very expensive. You'd be better off saving the money for something more useful. Besides ...." Summer moved to Sky's lap. "Mommy and I don't mind dancing outside. We can wear coats over our pretty dresses. We'll stay warm and still look stunning. Isn't that right, Mommy?" Sky smiled a little. She was proud of her daughter. "That's right, Honey. You're beautiful no matter what you wear." "Mommy too," Summer looked up and stroked her mother's cheek. "Mommy is always beautiful, even when she's helping Grandpa on the sheep farm with her face covered in sweat and her messy hair. Mommy looks the prettiest among the sheep."

Summer had returned, not with noise or spectacle, but with memory. The sun hung high over the park, pouring gold over the grass and tracing long shadows that stretched like gentle reminders of time. Cherry trees stood in full bloom once more, their soft pink petals trembling in the wind, drifting through the air like delicate whispers. Beneath them, life gathered — not in silence this time, but in laughter and light.