Where did my summer go?
Lost in a whirl of passing days
Eaten up by anxiety
Consumed by confusion?
Summer ends as it began, silently,
Slowly, the greens fading
From brilliance to buff
Becoming at first tired and jaded,
Ragged at the edges,
The freshness of spring
Dried and hardened to leather.
The sun changes from the silver-gilt
Shining of May-time joy
To a brassy, aching shade
That burns and wearies the eyes.
Fermenting windfalls draw the wasps
Who feast amid drunken butterflies
Gorging themselves on over-ripe pears
And cider-smelling apples.
The harvest is all done;
Rough with stubble, empty fields
Await the blade of the plough
And the screaming gulls.