As summer comes with rush of breezes hot,
Shan’t hear complaints from one who’s oft so cold.
Though sweat may pour while sleep descendeth not.
And lie – awake – my blankets I shall fold,
Soft smile as mem’ries of the winters flee.
How is it so far North we’ve grown this old?
The South has beckoned, voice like siren, she.
I hear and feel her in my very bones,
Yet ties to Here have thus far not set free.
Must squelch the urge to think beyond unknowns,
And revel in these days which cool e’re long.
Today, just like tomorrow, are but loans.
Embody lessons which this day hath taught,
As summer comes with rush of breezes hot.