The blue jays are converging, at the top of the garden wall,
Singing their new old songs, in the young days of summer,
And spell-casting sluggish heat, holds all in a dreamy thrall,
Until dazzling golden skies, have darkened to a rich umber.
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Colourful and magnificent, Evelyn. "In the young days of Summer ", spring sprouts…. So dear are these days
Another top 5 writw Bravo! ! ! !
I extend my heartfelt thanks.