The early risers now are blest
When morning´s rays creep toward the west.
For early is the only hour
That one may toil with all one´s pow´r.
By midday Sunna´s heat will scorch,
So strongly now doth burn her torch.
All afternoon the red will climb;
We´ll wistf´ly dream of winter´s rime.
No warning giv´n, the sun doth hide.
What woe does this black cloud betide?
No woe - ´tis mighty Asa-Thor.
His wain approaches with a roar.
The wind strips leaves from all the trees-
This is no gentle summer breeze.
Blue-tinged bolts flash; great raindrops fall;
The summer storm refreshes all.
The clouds have fled; the sun sinks low.
Where did today´s long hours go?
As insects sing the land to sleep
Our dream to hidden worlds may leap.
© Analemma McKee-Schwenke
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