Summer Music... Poem by Aleksandra Szymanska

When it rains thousands of glockenspiels descend
from the sky which can never hear their euphony -
full of envy it frowns, then thunders, its hues dims,
and the rain just dances with the sound's harmony...

Every dropp - a crystal bar - turns into a drumstick
when it lands on swaying, humming, old trees,
and transforms their branches into gigantic cymbals -
their clashing becomes resonant with woodland bliss...

Liquid magic gently drips from a leaf to leaf,
chimes on grass's blades, taps against every stone...
It feels as if time hanged thousands of clocks,
then tuned their hearts in to perform the carillon...

Ancient trunks inhale the melodious, humid air
then exhale it from their insides with their whole might.
They become bass pipes as their drone resounds
in unison with birds' chant when the sky turns bright...