The Summer Season

O, the joyous summer season with its pleasures out of doors,

Far removed from close apartments with their musty walls and floors;

Far removed from bin and furnace, from the sifter and the can –

O, the gladsome summer season, it is good for weary man!

First we have the festive mower which we push across the lawn,

Clinging to the daily pleasure till the morning train is gone;

Then we play the hose each evening till we’re all played out for fair,

And we hoe the garden later by the lantern’s mellow glare.

O, the joyous summer season with the autos whizzing by

Covering the new piano with a coating deep and dry;

Running over hens and roosters as they try to cross the street,

While there floats through every window scent of gasofume so sweet.

Then the journeys to the beaches, hanging on an open car,

Coming home again disgusted with the things that never are.

O, the joyous summer season, far removed from winter’s ban,

With its rest and peace and quiet, it is so good for weary man!

April 6, ‘10