What has happened to summer,
That's what I want to know.
Is she on a vacation -
Who knows where did she go?
His symphony is played when the eastern light
diffuses into the western night,
Abundant in sweetness, companion to spring.
In calling me from slumber this music of His
The voices cry on the wind between the dusk and the dawn,
plaintive, sad, unseen.
They cry from the wilderness, shriveling, forlorn,
for goodness flown, hope gone,
Did you ever consider how a seed grows,
A minuscule thing that is planted in rows
That's oft so small it can just be seen,
When the weather is warm will grow up green,