Summertime

In our book there’s a space for a summer poem:

With what luscious things shall we fill it?

With water for splashers

And ice cream on dashers

And root beer so high that you’ll spill it!

I’m glad there’s a space for a summer poem,

Though I’m sure that we’ll soon run it over

With bikes right for racing

And frisbees for chasing

And picnics spread out in the clover.

Now pile the space higher,

Add a tent, add a fire—

And drowsy-eyed papas and mamas,

Who chauffeur their crew

To a drive-in or two

Before we need winter pajamas.