On Midsummer

Cone-flowers dance.

Arms overhead in

varied stages of

arabesque and age.

Head to toe, tapping slippers,

bowing in graceful

summer symphony.



With a whistle, squeal

and a start, dancers leap,

one by one

into the murky green,

land on white Lilly Pads.

In harmonies,

they sing

a croaking song.

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Queen’s royal whites

and pink lace bend

and bow as if paying

homage to passers by



In Mid-Summer,

green awnings cover

walking paths

like children

touching hands

building bridges.


Tiny fingers

Pressed against

full cotton clouds.

Green is green

is forever



Until the reeds

turn brown.

Until the path

turns gray.

Until the curtain draws.

Yellow faces turn

downward as if



the sun slowly dying

in an autumn-red sky.


Susan Ward Trestrail

4 thoughts on “On Midsummer

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