Summer's All But Gone
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I no longer hear the songbirds sweetly singing,
and fear they've left, knowing what Winter is bringing:
yet I listen, each Dawn.
The crops in the fields are ripe and ready to pick,
coinciding with Summer's disappearing trick:
the dog days have moved on.
Shorter days and longer nights have picked up a chill:
and chrysanthemums have replaced the daffodil;
Summer has all but gone.
As Autumn's festival of color comes to pass,
Jack Frost transforms green into gold, amber, and brass;
as if with a crayon.
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2020
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