SAYONARA SUMMER SONNET

This may be the last mildness, the last warm eve
Where thunder prowls. A million crickets shrill
Towards sudden silence, but I do not grieve
The coming cut of cold. It’ll do what it will,
For it always does. Men who must have warmth
Don’t move to Montana; the news reports
A blizzard there, but my part of the north
Clings to summer. I’ll put away my shorts
Tomorrow. Tonight I’ll just sit and heed
The million crickets. I’ll order the tankful
Of heating oil tomorrow. Now I need
To look back at summer, and be thankful
To blooms for honey, although to survive
I soon must vanish in the waxy hive.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.