butterflies upon stalks of rye grass,
vibrant, wag their wings

impatiens children tap their petals

a slow flutter
(with little risk
of sudden snow flurry)

deep in the heart of summer
amid merry smells, sights

sad sounds

a calliope razed to the ground here,
but its lilt is always on lips, melodious whistles,
bounce low, ride high, carousel horses
go giddy up and around

Chagall 2020