Softly, when the Summer blows
Scented breath across the rose,
Long-lashed clouds with modest eyes
Sing from friendly aqua skies:
Come out, Man, out!
Petals are falling;
Meadows are sprawling;
Woodlands are calling:
Come out…
Or when darkling frown-clouds mass,
Dropping gems against the glass,
Can be heard above the rain
Gently, faintly, this retrain:
Come out, Man, out!
Branches are squeaking;
Moist earth is reeking;
Wet steps are creaking,
Come out….
When the Chewink, hid from view,
Scratches wildly; and the hue
Of a startled Thrasher’s blur
Beguiles you, hear the Wren-song whir:
Come out, Man, out!
Trees are embracing;
Butterflies racing;
Squirrels are chasing;
Come out….
Where old-fashioned Queen Anne’s Lace
Bows and smiles with charming grace,
From behind a Goldenrod
Sounds the gentle Voice ot God:
Come out, man, out!
Leave pomp and riches
And fame in their niches;
The out-doors bewitches–
Come out!
by Ray Romine Thursday, July 15, 1948
