SHHHH! CAN YOU HEAR IT?

 

The End of Summer

August's bags are packed;

Our itinerary takes its cue;

And, if you strain to listen in,

September nears debut.

Whispers of mounting dismissal

Rush before loose ends;

Reddened skies are all the rage

As summer's sun descends...

What is the rush?

[One always asks],

And others soon implore:

The grape is still a verdant green

And dreams we have in scores!

The corn is ripe for picking;

It haunts the richest fields;

They'll soon be fallow, once again:

To 'fate', our summer yields...

poem by L.P.-G.  c. 8/2022