The Fading Light of Summer

God damn the meek, obliging sunlight,

a fading glow from dusk’s pink skies,

it lies down still beneath the twilight,

then falls asleep and rests its eyes,

in tame resistance to the newborn night

and soft, hushed voiceless lullabies.

She acquiesces in surrender,

to the birth of season’s change,

as thickset clouds disturb the splendour,

of summer’s brightest, emerald planes,

now touched by rainfall fallen tender,

a landscape doused by fresh tear stains.

How we would long to see the summer,

berate the autumn’s whispered cool,

and see it rage with prideful rapture,

in place of tearful, strangled mewl,

but still its brightness gently tempers,

when met with infant winter’s rule.