Over meadows and brooked glades
Floats the music of serenades,
From passionate bird throats making dates.
Appealing to their fluffy mates
To think about warm nests of young;
Cradled high, secure, among
The strong arms of a guardian tree,
A landlord with no rental fee.
Clouds play tag; masqueraded in black,
They frighten with their boom and crack;
They pierce the murk with white-hot flash;
Then dip their glowering heads and dash;
Leaving mirrors and fattened streams,
Sparking brightly in damp sunbeams.
And then the inverted necklace is worn;
The eye, a prisoner, when these colors are born.