To the Pergola below we’ll go,
You take your book,
And I’ll bring mine
We’ll go to the shady side of Sunday,
Where the sun in this garden, cannot shine

Through the aged kiwi, fruit not yet to bare,
But relieves us from heat,
Of summers moist air
Where white petal blossoms join dense green leaves,
A blanket of nature perfumes the hot breeze

We sit and we read
Under blue skies divide
Exchange a soft glance,
As birds choir , fly high