No more time for livin’ easy. Fall will descend, cool and breezy.

Soon the leaves will be aflutter. Piling in the lawn and gutter.

Green to yellow. Red to brown. Ending as sludge on the ground.

One last call for windows open. For eight months we will be hopin’.

Unpack blankets, heavy coats. On to shore come all the boats.

No more fresh air meals outside. Time to make the flowers hide.

Bare limbs waving like thin arms. Frozen temps and lesser charms.

Soon enough, there will be snow. Shoveling and plows. Oh no.

Dead of winter, painted white. Cold in daylight, freeze at night.

There’s not much good left to say. Summertime has gone away.