Seven Summers

By Dave Goulder

It was a long, wet year

But still she looked for summer

Grown weary waiting for the sun

She saw the sodden fledglings fasten to the trees

And corn lie flat in fields.



Each of her seven years 

Had summers to remember

Long afternoons in waterfalls

Journeys over Minches; scrambles over hills

And nights spent out of doors.



But March stayed around till June

And April passed unnoticed

July hurried in grey holidays

Wellingtons and raincoats; friends would call around

And play at winter games.



Clouds stirred around by wind

And sun was framed in showers

Eager to run in summer sand

She never bared her body; never shed a sleeve

Her paths are lost in weeds.



No chance of summer now

We saw the geese returning

Fieldfares and in the swallow-skies

Not a lot of sense in hurrying from school

When all the light is done.



It was a long, wet year.

My bewildered seven year old daughter, trying to make sense of the cold, wet summer of 1985. No hill climbs or sea visits or motor bike rides. 
2026 is looking horribly similar... maybe another song here.