As Summer Sets
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From the deep fells of September,
I stand tip-toe on Autumn's reach,
Longing to see the late-day blush,
Or a June lark through dewy haze.
But all that meets my hopeful eye?
October, dropping bright bloomers,
And the cold, graying cloaks beyond.
~ 4th Place ~ in the "Farewell Summer" Poetry Contest, Nette Onclaud, Judge & Sponsor.
( Syllables = eight per line, counted at HowManySyllables.com )
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2019
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