This is a poem I wrote in the last two weeks, it isn’t entirely right, but I couldn’t help but share it anyway.
Spring and summer turn to late summer.
The bright and pale yellow light becomes a deep golden colour and reaches out across once green lawns.
The grass now is somewhat straw-like and crunches under bare feet.
The days are still hot, but the nights have cooled, hinting at what the winds will soon bring.
The leaves still green, dance their last dance before changing to all their shades of red.
The bugs, frogs, and birds give their last hurrah.
A cacophony of calls from daybreak till sundown; a standing ovation of sorts for their favourite season.
The harvest is coming, the cornucopia of this years fruits and vegetables soon to be ready.
There is a nostalgic quality to this time of year, a special magic.
It is a time for bonfires and lake days, the scent of sunscreen and citronella candles lingering in the air.
And for twinkling patio lights lit long into the night, as we try to stretch out these last few days of summer forever.
And someday soon, late summer turns to fall.
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