Thoughts gather like the ever growing grass
based on the modest roots of memory
as the sun pierces the window's glass
and radiates its warmth right into me.
Summer sentiments blossom like fireworks
in flowery explosions of colour
and for months this feeling lingers and lurks
until age seizes the skies, fading duller.
I will not refine my growing garden
but let my thoughts expand free and wild
with high fences to let my will harden
but enough space to canter like a child.
The nature of joy must run its young course
til we become victims of age's force.
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