Isn't Summer Ending Early?

If leaves turn orange to make humans cringe, while Canadian winds and thick snowy clouds threaten all that's pretty: isn't summer ending early? If days lose the brightness of sunshine over meadows where lovers lay to dream, how can lonely poets redeem something lost in their rhyme: would fantasy restore time? If flowers start to droop to make us a bit moody, what is needed to cheer up? Listen to that violin playing, see a slim ballerina dancing: she consoles hopeless Rudy! If sad eyes look down, not up; they are lost as a stranded pup, will faith be strong enough to lead them to God and restore their creed? Isn't summer ending early? Watch a frosted, trembling lily at the mercy of the untamed wind: would it sweep it away or be kind?