The End of Summer

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.

 

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