An ode.it reads:
And comes Rule with hot days
And we are told she is not-yet-summer
But summer she is, in the brilliance
Of the colors changing with the clouds.
In the woods, I mean, where from
Chartreuse and hunter comes a time
Where all is muted to the tones
Of grass in the time of spring.
Beneath my feet where moss and ant
And mosquito and wild-strawberry
Seemingly play; and in nature all
Play is seeming and seeming, play.
The fire-lit lilies all proudly proceed
And rule like a short dynasty from
Daffodil until midsummer in armies
Climbing walls and standing guard.
If I cared for calendars and the motion
Of the heavenly bodies in their bleach-white
Color-by-number charts I would've missed
Low summer, and Rule, his queen.