Summer Love

It’s autumn, and the trees

Are crisp and painted in the frost.

Hands touch in the biting air

That clutched in summers hot,

And footsteps clatter by

Where once they strolled and paused.

Its fall and soon

The shallow snows that melt

Before they cool those burning tears will come.

Its autumn and the flowers that bloomed are nearly dry

And trees are dry and rattle in the wind.

Leaves burn brown and curl

And break from brittle twigs

Into muddy puddles, soggy wet

To lie neath snow and ice.

After winter comes the spring,

But there can be no spring this year.