does long-sought summer simmer
more with yearning?
should not a reckless desire unbound
plead for unlearning?
does not a whisper of a breeze upon a scorched blacktop race
through the stillness of youth,
fickly departing without a trace?

these things shall pass, only while they're good
as the expanse of outside
accelerates beyond youth's neighborhood
and a last enduring moment clings
for dear life as it darts between
time and space upon nostalgia's wings.

it is only after the last drop of lunar luster
upon the chilled earth dissipates
that rich amber rays sprawl from a horizon
such that the night falls and dawn breaks

and so should not the end of one story
plead for another to awaken from slumber?
as one smile fades should there not be
another to turn back the first day of summer?

Now I've grown,
Yes, summer was that smile.