The seasons are natures’ humble clock
And summer, her fondest midnight
The sun wraps the Earth in a warm embrace
Until her frosty, grey sky melts to blue
It envelopes the forest from treetops to brush
Where the beautifuls hide so quietly
They whisper to the wind on silver tongues
And beg her to bring the breeze
So she parts her lips and blows them a kiss
Her whistling breath sings the song of the mockingjay
The beautifuls rejoice as they dance through the leaves
Their home until autumn’s somber call
Then down they descend through the mighty oak’s branches
To meet the golden forest floor.