This summer let me end this summer young
Knowing less better than I now know more
And all my summer learning be your tongue
This summer let me sing as I have sung
But like a child who has never sung before
This summer let me end this summer young
But old enough that I would still feel stung
And guilty at your slammed then silent door
Let all my summer learning be your tongue
And let me speak as if my words had hung
On branches from which blossoms lit an or
-chard once with solid light I am not young
Each summer now I am by summer wrung
Out and my sweat now makes no petrichor
On grateful air but let me learn your tongue
This summer words on which my words are strung
Wood dancers strung on wires I’m ready for
The dancing let me end this summer young
And all my summer learning be your tongue