Morning rises, the day reprises, what is it about the summer
that makes you sigh, feelin’ high and a perpetual hummer?
Something in my soul mourning the toll marking the start of fall
Draws in July, wondering why summer has to end at all.

Sun’s hot face delicately traced into the metal of the slide;
Withering grass hard as glass, yellow-brown and dried;
Absorbed right smack into the rubber black of sagging swings,
And sawdust shielded, precious shade yielded, sole solace from solar sting.

Ice cream man jingle, the sensuous tingle of breeze on sweaty skin.
Baby blue skies to match my eyes with clouds on the wind.
Time just a clock, meaningless tick-tock; the syllables
Hang
	On
		The
			Air

Popsicles, clouds, butterflies, crowds, and the smell of cut grass and dirt.
The girl in the pool, just stayin’ cool, the boy being chided for losing his shirt.
Bikes abandoned to trees, intriguing the bees, receiving shade’s embrace.
Dandelion seeds, modern tumbleweeds rolling slowly over third base.

The rays of light, blinding white are filtered into the MAX.
Roomy and placid, time just passing, ambling down the tracks.
Nowhere to go.
Nowhere to be.
Nothing to do.
Nothing to see.
And the sun moves.
Little.
By little.
By little.

Long cool shadows turning sallow in the streets of South East
And playing in the park, till it gets dark and I can hardly see.
The sprinklers come on, wetting the lawn and dewy sweet grass of Mount Scott.
The wind on your face
	Where nothing’s a race;
		Tomorrow’s a promise
			Today and afterthought.