The eyes of the old Gods
of Summer are getting
sleepy with each shortened
hour of daylight,
diminished minute by minute,
day by day.
Their yawns are the winds,
coldly blowing through the
chilling Summer evenings,
as the crackle of Summer
bonfires set in and we get
that old sweater out of the car.
The Autumnal Gods,
are licking their lips as
they know their time is
coming soon, and they
stretch and reach up,
tinging the leaves gold and brown.
Each night, the Summer Gods
doze just a little more,
just a little longer,
each morning it’s harder to
get up and roll out of the light
Summer sheets of bed.
The trudge to the kitchen,
more laborious, more hungover,
with the festivals, parties, and Olympic
trials, now quickly in the past.
Summer Gods too fat on the
hedonism to care.
Summer Gods, fading tans
and blonde hair highlights,
bikinis and trunks nearly threadbare,
almost ready for next year,
and a return to the joys of
daily Bacchanalia.
While Autumn waits.
