Some are born to celebrate,
rushing headlong into summer,
thrilling to morning awakenings.
Sleeping air conditioners drone,
and hibernating lawnmowers growl.
Ah but those are memories.
Here in Florida, grumpy old men
complain of heat, and curse humidity,
till I remind then once again
of ice, and snow, and slush, and mud.
Some are born to celebrate
every season like a wandering child.
We cannot wait to get outdoors.
Every sunrise is an adventure.
Every storm is a gift, and a reminder.
~~~~~
Another poem inspired by Ray Bradbury's delightful novel, Dandelion Wine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem