God killed Summer.

But caught her mid-Fall,
And laid her in a goldenrod dress.
We held our breath-and wept
To see her more lovely in sleep:
        Green eyes closed brown,
                   Crimson lips
                           Windswept hair

God cried hardest-
Saturated her bedside in rain.
We drank deep draughts of her vibrant complexion
Brandishing onto our gaze
Her rosy palms and frosting fingers.

God blanketed Summer.
With a sheet of fine lace,
And lowered her into the earth.

We trudged home in the snow.
Her warmth had left us cold,
But we carried God's promise burning our ears:

"Whatever entity I take,
With tenfold will I bring.
Our Summer's hardy, just you wait-
And from her grave she'll Spring!"