Summer's mild pass

Alas!

But, do I so detest,

fall coming shortly a’best.

The sun, shall not glimmer upon my windowsill.

The glass will be shut.

Children?

They will not linger,

not in the alley anymore.

Who shall I watch?

Playing, innocently, and blithely without a care?

Alas! My flowers?

Like I with age, slowly,

by petal, and petal,

depart this life!

To make our own charnel house!

Homely, calmly, mellow gentle wind,

all will in her inimical way,

as her Father Winter comes

make this body and soul dismally rimy.

My pet! Come to me do.

Ah! Winter will not see you through!

Be good now, return when all fair yellow flowers bloom!

Do, for the moment,

while perched upon the pane,

whisper me a tune. 

perhaps just a single note, that shall do.

carry this old fool through.

Soon, the drapes will be shut,

so will the door,

the butterfly, with violet tipped wings,

will not greet me nevermore! Ah..

To be sentenced, into a prison of brass bed.

Dusty, unswept floors. Antiques, gems.

Idly biding upon blight shelves,

what are they worth? Sitting through bleak weather?

Whilst my heart, withers, too, hard as ice?

Reviews

[GhostlyAuthor]

very nice