The summer lingers on, but there’s a breeze.
I see it shake the leaves upon the trees.
It’s cold at dusk, the nights are drawing in.
The autumn, I so dread, will soon begin.
The winter’s world of white waits in the wings,
while nightingale, that bird of sorrow, sings.
The frost that bites, it waits to freeze my tears
I’ve shed, without you, down these septic years.
The summer season, I will sum it up:
a chalice, loving hearts are cursed to sup,
which tastes so sweet - for love, it makes you long,
but turns to hemlock on your lips and tongue.