Long bars of golden light slant down
Through the oak tree's canopy;
And, shadow-flecked, the hillside lies
Near the brook's soft melody.
The drowsy bees go humming by
Like treasure ships of lore
That, steering through an unknown sea,
Find wealth along the shore.
Like gold, the fragrant hay is piled
In heaps beneath the trees,
And summer dreams are wafting by
On each caressing breeze.
~ Wilfred E. Beaver
Through the oak tree's canopy;
And, shadow-flecked, the hillside lies
Near the brook's soft melody.
The drowsy bees go humming by
Like treasure ships of lore
That, steering through an unknown sea,
Find wealth along the shore.
Like gold, the fragrant hay is piled
In heaps beneath the trees,
And summer dreams are wafting by
On each caressing breeze.
~ Wilfred E. Beaver
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