whisper it
autumn never leaves
the summer breeze
or the fall of leaves on
the budding trees
turning a turned eye
back down the calendar ways
the shortening of the longer days
recycling the question why
did the dream awake
on that midsummer night
stopped short as the shortest day
did break up right there and did not stay
all the halcyon buds
of gay abandon
dashed and smashed
as that summer breeze
starts to leave
until the last moment
it was there all along
the ghost in the summer’s song
hello lies abed with goodbye when
those salad days in the blackest mood
fell once more
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