Summer

Summer      by Timothy Steele

Voluptuous in plenty, summer is
Neglectful of the earnest ones who've sought her.
She best resides with with what she images:
Lakes windless with profound sun-shafted water;
Dense orchards in which high-grassed heat grows thick;
 The one-lane country road where, on his knees,
A boy initials soft tar with a stick;
Slow creeks which bear flecked light through depths of trees.

And he alone is summer's who relents
In his poor enterprisings; who can sense
In alleys petal-blown, the wealth of chance;
Or can,supine in a deep meadow, pass
Warm hours beneath a moving sky's expanse,
Chewing the sweetness from long stalks of grass.

Paraphrase: 
Delightfully full of enjoyment is the summer,  It gives no heed go those who have waited for summertime.  It is best to leave her with the things that define her, deep smooth lakes with sunlight refracting off the surface, trees heavy with fruit, in tall grass, and heat.  A narrow country road with a boy drawing his initials in the tar on the roadway, and creeks flowing through the trees, dappled with sun.

A man only belongs fully to summer when he stops resisting, in all of his work and plants, and can see in the flower strewn areas all the possibilities.  Or can lay back in the tall grass for hours, enjoying the heat and watching the sky while nibbling on the soft ends of the tall grass stems.