Summer's On Poem by Frank Avon

What one listens for
through the air swimming
with promise and prospects
is the twittering of birds,
mating, nesting, feeding
young beaks screeching
at the end of naked necks,
the buzzing of bees
in blossoms bursting
from cherry trees, redbuds,
honeysuckle vines, roses,
the laughter of children
in the neighborhood, yelling,
bouncing balls, riding bikes,
rolling hoops, wrestling
in the grass, maybe someone
whistling - even a song,
just the whisper of a breeze
leafing through new-green trees.

But, no,
summer's on:
what one hears is the drone

nextdoor, down the street,
a block or two away,
across the green ravine
all around, first here
then there, eventually everywhere

of someone mowing a lawn:

power mowers, power noise
drronnnnnnning onnn and onnnnnn

it only stops
when it hits a rock
and then

onnnnnnnn n onnnn n onnnnnn

summer's drone

on n on