The sun flings golden coins of heat Through blooming myrtle trees to make Mosaics on the grass. The late Pears hang like moons above the creek. Old vines hold clustered scuppernongs Spilling fragrance on breath-like wind, White butterflies are clouds with wings, There is no hint of snow beyond. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DISCORDANTS: 1 by CONRAD AIKEN ODE TO TRANQUILLITY by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE MADONNA OF THE EVENING FLOWERS by AMY LOWELL IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 74 by ALFRED TENNYSON LET US HAVE PEACE by NANCY BYRD TURNER |