A rusty muse writes:
It was a summer like those
You remembered in your childhood
Sunny days that were
Joined together in an endless daisy-chain.
Days when you took a siesta from the sun
Under the shade of a tree
And listened to the intense, hypnotic
Buzz of insect life.
Those days when the brown of the hills
Was matched by the brown of your skin.
Days when you moved in harmony
With sunrise and sunset.
This was such a summer.
Purakanui — March, 1985