The Singing Summer Breeze
On summer days, I drift away
beneath a golden, honey sun,
and dream sweet dreams of clover fields
through which I tumble, spin and run
as if these lazy days won't end,
as if time has left behind
this single shore to lie in wait
for summer queens to someday find
and weave into the bright daydreams
of children in their buttercup beds
and girls with blooming hearts that dance
to melodies played in their heads.
Upon the sweeping daisy sea,
the dreamers find their sweet escape
where violets form their fragile crowns
and dandelions gently shape
their twirling gowns and shadowed steps,
their trails of hazy fantasies,
nostalgic smiles swept along
by a single, singing, summer breeze.
beneath a golden, honey sun,
and dream sweet dreams of clover fields
through which I tumble, spin and run
as if these lazy days won't end,
as if time has left behind
this single shore to lie in wait
for summer queens to someday find
and weave into the bright daydreams
of children in their buttercup beds
and girls with blooming hearts that dance
to melodies played in their heads.
Upon the sweeping daisy sea,
the dreamers find their sweet escape
where violets form their fragile crowns
and dandelions gently shape
their twirling gowns and shadowed steps,
their trails of hazy fantasies,
nostalgic smiles swept along
by a single, singing, summer breeze.