Summer IV:  mythical summer

Dreams drift back
and expectations forward,
for perfection is there,
skies blue, dense, inviting,
earth ripe at richest maturity
without excess,
lushness bordering waters
that drift to horizons of purple lands,
magical.

Neither spring, nor fall, nor winter
touch the longing chord
as summer does.
Harmonies wished for,
remembered dreams of gardens
where all was balance, measure,
night brought dreams
that woke no nightmares
and all dozed babe-like
behind guarded gates.

Memories then of paradise lost
locked in wayward hearts,
unknowing homage to what was, once,
perfection before the Fall.