The great pines snoring in their mulchy beds Sending off spurts of their spicy scent. The golden sunlight glinting off the crystal water. The melodious tone of the whip-poor-will calls Into the coming of cool Summer Night. Time standing still as the sun slips away And the moon peeks his head from his cloudy coverings. Crickets play their appendage violins in harmony With the blow horns of the bull frogs call. This Summer Night has strolled in To replace the scorching humidity of Day.
