When will the summer come?

When will the summer come, the fields be ripe again, The sun down-shining power, the clouds reducing rain. When will the poplars be releasing, millions of seeds, And outside be snowing fuzz-balls, carried on the breeze. When will the maple tree, release its helicopters, And send them down in twirling spirals, alighting on the flowers. When will it stop this raining, this downpour from above, The sky be blue, serene, and birds be singing love. Why won’t it stop, why won’t it clear, why is it always so gray, I wish that only the summer be here, to clear this dreadful day.