The sun is shining in the silver sky
The grass is growing green in seeming greed
To top the turf in splendor, or to try.
The morning mists like magic melt away
To leave the lingering lawn to look its best;
The frosts have fled to foreign lands. The fae
Have winged their way to wander in the west
Nearer to night than morning. Now we near
The start of summer, and the sunshine shows
Queer, quiet things that quaked our quilts with fear
Can comfort us, in kinder, daylight clothes.
And yet, you know, your warm days make me yearn
For frost, and frozen fairies in a fern.
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