Summer’s last
I left the summer
this evening,
quietly walking home,
as she whispered
across the fields,
for I could see
she was alone,
for above
the stars were weeping,
many slipping
from the evening sky,
‘farewell,’
they seemed to tremble,
as she bowed
to the harvest moon,
and sang
a slow goodbye,
And in her arms
were apples
full and rounded,
blushing,
from the late
afternoon sun,
So I stopped
took one,
and listened
to the silence,
the last
of summer
to remember,
the memories
and laughter,
in colour
the fallen leaves
that autumn
had left undone.
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