 | | 23/06/2013 01:31
Sur le blog MaryLou Cinnamon
Then followed that beautiful season... Summer....
Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood. It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside... I drifted into a summer-nap under the hot shade of July, serenaded by a cicadae lullaby, to drowsy-warm dreams of distant thunder A man says a lot of things in summer he doesn't mean in winter Each fairy breath of summer, as it blows with loveliness, inspires the blushing rose. Love is to the heart what the summer is to the farmer's...
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