The first lily of June opens its red mouth.

All over the sand road where we walk

multiflora rose climbs trees cascading 

white or pink blossoms, simple, insense

the scene drifting like colored mist. 

The arrow head is spreading its creamy 

clumps of flower and the blackberries 

are blooming in the thickets. Season of 

joy for the bee. The green will never again 

be so green, so purely and lushly 

New, grass lifting its wheaty seedheads

into the wind. Rich fresh wine of June,iecy

we stagger into you smeared with pollen,

overcome as the turtle laying her eggs 

in roadside sand,

                                                   -Marge Piercy