Summer days are numbered,
I feel it in the air.
The flowers lift their vacant eyes
beneath their tired hair.
The sun that rises further south
and sets just further same,
is just not there as many hours
and nature can’t reclaim.
Thicker fur on kitty cats,
the deer begin to Know,
and gardens find their way to shelves
to ward the coming snow.
I might bethink it sadder still,
death’s Fairchild – winter snow;
just an illusion looking close
as you and I both know.