Does not long-sought summer simmer
more with yearning?
Should not a reckless desire
unbound plead for unlearning?
Does not a whisper of a breeze
upon a scorched blacktop race
Through the stillness of youth
which fickle departs without a trace?
These things shall pass, only while they’re good,
as the everchanging expanse of outside
accelerates beyond a neighborhood
And a last enduring moment tightly clings
onto dear life as it darts between
time and space upon nostalgia’s wings.
It is only after the last drops of lunar luster
upon the chilled earth dissipates
that rich amber rays sprawl from the horizon,
such that the night falls and dawn breaks.
And so should not the end of one story
plead for another to awaken from slumber?
As one smile fades should there not be
Another to call back the first day of summer?