We don’t remember spring time, dear. Once there was summer…that was clear, and a joy to recall, isn’t it?
Summer Love 
Summer Time
You are a lake I jump to,
a river I flow with towards
the ocean that mirrors the
sunny sky.
You are my waterfall with
cascades of your lustrous
black hair wrapping around
me as in one cold spring time.
You are my fountain whose
lovely circular stream shields me
like a green parasol in moments
of fun and frolic.
You are my prism through whom
the sun’s rays become as rainbows
like Christmas lights twinkle in the
month of December.
You are my bluish mist that masks
my summer, its heat dissipated,
conquered, summoning up the
feeling I’ve saved quite a penny for
a rainy day.
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