SUMMER STONES

The stars light, pokes,
brilliant !  
precisely through the stones .  
From above the Heel,  
distant,  
standing, in the ditch alone.    
The joyous , enchanted,  
makeshift  “Aztecs”,  
some with flowers in their hair,  
dance in the warm , golden glow.  
Chanting , and laughing.    
They hum and moan.    
Their celebration, is . . . not in vain.    
It’s summer !  again !  
on the chalky plain.