It IS inevitable, Dawn!

I fight it every year and every year it happens anyway.  My gloriously beautiful Summers draw to a close.  It's when I begin praying for a very long Fall especially since we haven't even begun building our garage.  I suppose it will be another Winter without one.  

I know that I shouldn't bring my readers down--there's enough in life doing that already, right?  However, the end of Summer is the worst time of year for me.  How I love the warmth on my skin.  How I love to watch the growth of my garden and eat of it's savory yields.  How I love no coats and mittens and hats to deal with!!!!

So I take myself to poetry to see if anyone else on this planet feels the way I do.  The answer is YES.  

Hugs to you all,

Dawn

Last Days Of Summer

Whatever way the Summer days end,

In the type of summer is how it has been,

Whether a good one or bad one,

The last days of summer,

Can be sad or happy endings,

As each season ends,

With another one beginning,

The summer could have been,

Miserable yet,

Sun scorching us everyday,

And sunlight shining on all our faces,

It is how it is,

Out there where all is seen,

In,

Summer days of fun,

Summer days of love,

Summer days of seeing,

Summer days of been,

Out and about where summer is,

And when summer came and went?

With a mundane feeling that it left?

Was the last days of summer,

And the beginning of another,

Autumn as we know it,

Fall in other places,

Where the ending of one season shows,

By the decaying of it,

When Autumn Fall shows,

Where we will wrap up and snuggle,

With warm cuppas drinks,

With a book,

Or,

Catch up on watching films,

Yet,

Still,

Musing over the summer days,

Of sunshine memories,

Now,

Warm hats and gloves,

With rustle leaves,

That rustle beneath,

Our feet as we walk,

Through the park,

And see,

The summer leaves turn,

To autumn shades,

Taking in,

The last days of summer,

Reflecting,

And remember,

The falls of Autumn's,

Is the signs of summer,

That has ended,

And mingling with,

All that falls,

From the summer ending,

To autumn beginnings,

Is the,

Decaying,

Of summer,

To regrow itself,

For next season's of summer,

When it begins again,

Yet,

In between,

There's,

Autumn,

Winter,

Spring,

Till,

Again,

Last days of summer,

And all in bloom again.

Ellen Ni Bheachai

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