Summer’s Demise

Overripe and showing her age,
attracting wasps rather than honeybees,
the perfume she wears is cloying.
Summer’s sizzle has begun to fizzle.

Once such an ardent suitor,
the sun no longer lingers to appreciate
that bewitching dusk she dons.
Her former charm now a cricket’s elegy.

A thinning chorus of birdsong
wakes this grand dame as she adorns
herself in dawn’s dewy jewelry:
Faux pearls worn on wrinkled fingers.

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