Shrouded Shelley

The longed-for summer days are dying.
Autumnal leaves already lying
remind us of that solemn season,
which soon will fall, which is the reason

why poets' pens are paused o'er pages;
they hear the storm as if it rages
to stir the soulless savage ocean,
whose waves did drown without emotion

the poet, Percy, (shrouded Shelly.)
Who breathed his last in ocean's belly;
that bloodless beast did still his passion,
turned youthful cheeks from red to ashen!

The longed-for summer days are dying.
Upon that beach where body's lying
the poet brothers all assemble,
put pen to page with hands that tremble.