Summer's Fall

Who can stop the seasons?

“Who could have predicted it?” asked the flowers, as the sun grew weak and the rain cold.

“Not us,” replied the leaves in rustling unison.

“Truly, this is the end of paradise,” lamented the butterflies. “We weep for our children.”

“What can I do to stop it?” cried the warm summer wind, fearing the chill growing deep within. 

“We can fight it,” said the canopy, ever hopeful. “Many of us are green yet.”

“But how?” wondered the wilting flowers.

“With hope,” the butterflies answered, as they landed one last time.

“Take courage,” whispered the wind, but its frosty voice found no audience.

And the trees, they just laughed, and shook their heads bare.