They say June’s children
Are lush like the lyric laugher
Of the sky which begets their moon
With neither grief nor grudge
Against the whistling fury
Of Time’s enchanting chariot
And the fiery mantle which falls
On the shoulders of abundant seasons
Vibrant like papaya leaves
Swaying ceaselessly to the urgings the of the wind
And the romping generosity of pumpkin flutes
In the orchestra between the furrows
Spirit of gentle breezes
Which harbor a soiree of rainbow sighs
Author of that whisper which
Puts Thunder to humble silence
The egret courts the spotless grace of your laughter
The bee envies the honey in your throat
Weaverbirds know not what to do
With the fertile imagination of your busy nest
Offspring of the Rain
Hold this day with both hands
Let your song rise to meet
The twittering ululations in the timeless tree
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