Summer

There is no summer
Not yet
It may come
Bring long elven songs
As we trail the moonlight
Weaving along earthen paths
Carved on slopes of sacred hills
Beneath silken boughs
And we are
Dressed green for dusk
Sendaline robes flowing
And when the song ends
We will sit to gaze upon the aether
From an oaken grove
To wait for the dawn
And see summer has come
Even though it is too late