A sea, a poem, a milky-way of tune,
you're the best of June,
       my uplifting plume,
       the endless summer rhymed with dream
in the showering sunlight sieved by the green
leaves of the eternal trees providing everlasting
shades of gleams.
                 Hearing the night-tides splattering
and splashing upon the shore is taking
the breaths of Endymion; I lie inside
your cradling arms, and would awake with my eyes closed
when you touch me with your fumbling lips.
                                          Your lips
are a fountain of youth that rejuvenates a soul languished in agony,
like the elixir rain drenches the waste of pain, and
turns the total barren into an abundant field.
                                              Draining
away in cicadas' music is the utilitarian
hands counting crops and melons. Let us go and labor for love!
Enjoy the fervent flame of the wild, wild Summer's days.
      Burn the clothes! Burn the manners!
It's time for wine. It's time for dance.
It's time for the tropical mind
      to offer the sacrifice.
                             Drink a full cup of prosperous green.
Darling, we're not going to rest, and the carnival just begins. "You're
the best of June," sings the milky-way of tune.