Summer morning,

The melody of the birds,

Lyricism without words,

Before they take off, soaring.

Fresh breeze,

Summer wild flowers rustling,

Too warm for daily bustling,

Pollen makes the business man sneeze

But he doesn’t mind,

He’s grateful for the air,

He’s in love with the way the sun kisses his skin

On a summer morning, confined

To a desk, terribly unfair,

As the sun is just about to begin.