O Summer, to where do you escape?
Where do you run off to
As the days and weeks alight in chilled gait?
Even the Indian, his febrile ways,
They too, vanish with you.
Autumn you’re desirous – such cruel
Schemes you’ve vindictively displayed:
Entering in through northern draughts,
Stealing summer skies, oceans prodigiously blue,
And casting spells great Oaks succumb to.
Are you jealous, Autumn, of what you
Cannot in all of your scheming ever attain?
O Summer, please return soon.
For the fair love I found I wish to pursue
And these long, cold months are in my way.
26 October 2003