Summer mornings are planting grounds of production,
Where my whole world can run efficiently away from the rising sun.
But once it’s high zenith is met,
Cogs and gears of my ever mounting work crack and melt into oblivion.
Summer afternoons are for the birds,
They even take this time to find a scrap of shade.
Summer evenings are meant for reflection,
Peaceful thoughts floating among the settling haze.
And now we look toward summer nights,
Where our bodies may ready themselves for these summer days.
Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.