Once again I’ve let the summer slip
away through my fingers
like sand falling on a beach.
The sun falls behind the trees
and the sky is painted red
an impressionist painting
I can’t forget – the promise
of another fine day ahead.
There’s not a whisper of wind
just the birds singing up above
as a robin hops into sight.
In the distance, black clouds
gathered, hovering menacingly –
a threat of what’s to come
as the light fades away,
another day nearly gone.
There is a crispness in the air
that wasn’t there before.
A mist hovers over the tree tops
and the grass blades tremble
with the heavy dew.
Remnants of summer linger, scattered
throughout the garden, while hounds
bark in the distance, down in the heart
of the valley. Autumn awaits
and summer is but a distant memory.