Summer’s Days

Summer’s Days
Christopher Bogart

Wisps of light
Invade
Dying night.
Pale pink
Becomes
Faint yellow
Spreading heat and light –
Blanketing bright
In sultry air
Enveloping,
Suffusing,
Suffocating care,
Scenes in sound,
A low buzzing noise
Cutting through
The moist morning air,
Quiet fair,
Then increasing to soar -
Buzzing roar.
Turns to rattle,
As the rattling of a long thin chain,
Drawn again
Across the slippery surface
Of lush green leaves,
Yellow haze,
In the lazy life
Of bright summer days.