The bugs that sang the summer through
now sing a weary fainter song
the sky's a deeper, cooler blue
as days draw short and nights grow long.
A summer spent, a season lost,
another ring inside each tree,
the lives that end with killing frost
will hardly leave a memory.
The bright new face upon the world
will call to mind the times gone by
when earth her flags of gold unfurled
when leaves would blaze and then would die.
My words like cold October rain
will drip and tap with same old sound
if sleep or death, it's still the pain
of love and summer in the ground.
So much light falls through naked trees
it changes aspect of the land
that trembles, waiting for the freeze
and blows from winter's ice-gloved hand.
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