Summer Sun

by Robert Louis Stevenson
A Child's Garden of Verses

Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven without repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.

Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.

The dusty attic spider-clad
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.

Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden around,
And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy's inmost nook.

Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The gardener of the World, he goes.

We celebrated the fourth with a community pancake breakfast, homemade hamburger buns, blue cheese burger, sautéed onions, and an evening fireworks party at Fawn's. The summer sun shone bright in this desert. The buns raised in record time.



Fawn's balcony lends onto the city center where the taxpayer's contribute to a show of fire. We enjoyed root beer floats, were regaled by stories of Turkey and travel, and father was jovial. He complemented my teeth twice. This land is your land, this land is my land.