Summer Gone


Golden grasses hang
Suspended in warm air;
Gossamer threads string pearled strands
Across
In beaded chains;
Dew pools form
In grassy hollows.
Swallows have gone.

Blurred edges of the season;
Leaves torn by storm and rain;
Curled and ragged forms
Peppered lawns with
Debris strewn;
The party’s over-
The morning after.

On the brink of change;
Hold as we might to summer days;
We orbit on
Tilting from the sun until
Summer’s gone.


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