The blue jays are converging, at the top of the garden wall,
Singing their new old songs, in the young days of summer,
And spell-casting sluggish heat, holds all in a dreamy thrall,
Until dazzling golden skies, have darkened to a rich umber.
The blue jays meet there daily, in a big conference of colors,
Warbling their joys and concerns, amongst the hued blooms,
While red butterflies attend other gatherings, at other hours,
In the lemony air of sunny days, redolent in spicy perfumes.