July

By Robert F. Skillings

A very pleasant mouth is this
To be in a country town.
The sunlight doth the foliage kiss,
Each verdant leaflet beams with bliss,
I see not one that’s brown.

Fresh zephyrs fan the thrifty trees
The oaks, the elms, the willows,
The lake’s face caressed by the breeze
In imitation of the seas,
Is flecked with tiny billows.

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