Waiting for Summer

The Bee is not afraid of me.

I know the Butterfly -

The pretty people in the Woods

Receive me cordially -

 

The Brooks laugh louder

When I come -

The Breezes madder play;

Wherefore mine eye thy silver mists,

Wherefore, Oh Summer's Day?

 

(The Bee is not afraid of me, E. Dickinson)

 

Pordenone

Done