Roses cascading from a trellis, tumble down
And grace the paving stones beneath my feet.
Early leaves have fallen and crumble, brown,
Rustling when crushed against the hard concrete.
Summer days of sweetness, sun and shade,
Where on a wrought iron table, food one sups
Is, on a crisp white cloth, so carefully laid,
With offerings, and tea in porcelain cups.
A cool breeze enters through an open space,
Between the Eucalyptus and the Yew,
And one is wrapped in Summer’s soft embrace,
And canopied by a sky of azure blue.
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