Summer is like eating cotton candy.
Summer eats candy apples,
it drinks lemonade.
It is friends with spring, winter, and fall.
Practically perfect summer
walks along slow, salty, smooth sand of beach.
Summer is a month of joy,
a month of everything you could ever think of.
The trees blow through the wind.
The trees shiver.
Leaves blow in the wind.
Suddenly leaves start to fall.
They fall deep,
from high to low,
slow or fast to the ground.
I hear the waves crashing and rolling.
They are high, medium or low.
Sometimes they are slow,
and sometimes they are fast.
I see children getting knocked off their boards
by the crashing waves.
I guarantee this is going to be
the best summer ever.
Why do you like to write poetry?
Graham Linthorst: “It feels good to write. It makes me imagine better.”