Not for gold, nor fleeting fame, But joy in simple things I claim. A charm of earth, both small and true End of summer, hope renewed.

Whispered soft on sunlit breeze, Butterfly kisses drift with ease, Summer's gentle, fleeting art, Touching hearts and leaving sparks In blooms they dance, so light and free, A fleeting tickle from me to thee, Warm days fade, but memory bliss, Linger with sweet summer's butterfly kiss