To fill in the gap as we have no contributor today, I’ve chosen to bring you one of Blyton’s Poems called A Song of July.

Softly the river goes swaying along,
Dreamily singing its rippling song,
Round by the mill, and away by the trees,
Caressing the little boats lying at ease,
Lazily murm’ring a lullaby,
Drowsily wrapped in the heat of July.

Tall is the corn, a-curtseying low,
Whenever the breezes begin to blow,
Whispering secrets, innocent, sweet,
Half-asleep in the shimmering heat
That quivers and trembles all the day through,
Wrapping the hills in mist of blue.

Roses droop on the wayside hedge,
White ducks drowse by the water’s edge.
Birds are silent among the trees,
And only the brook and the breeze,
Croon a soon as they go their way,
For the poppies dance to, lissom and gay.

“Tall is the Corn, a-curtseying low”