Sarah

14

The Spirit of Summer

Four young maidens stood in mark,
All waiting for their judgment.
The first was tall, with billowed mane;
The last was small and dark.

The decree their father held at hand
Was to decide their fate.
Either cold, or hot, or in between,
Or snow, or leaves, or grass, or sand.

The eldest was called up first,
And send to a far off land.
There she thrived in wind and cold,
What others think the worst.

Thereafter were the second two,
Whose destinies next unraveled.
Skipped over and forgotten most,
Their purpose was to renew.

Last came the youngest, sprightly and thin,
Who’s spirit never waned.
She was to be the gaiety,
The children’s joy and grin.

She traveled far, that little one,
Until she found her home.
Amongst shining sun and washing waves,
With space to play and run.

For centuries she has sat there,
Watching over boys and girls.
Bringing merriment and laughter,
And true smiles – sweet and rare.

Still she shines with wonder,
The youngest, small and dark.
Basking in her happiness,
Thus is the tale of Summer.