The Sun has gone to summer up the south,
Leaving a fading shadow of his light.
A cold begins to spread by word of mouth
As Jack Frost comes to nip the nose of Night.
September swells the gourd; the squirrel's brown nuts
Are resting on a chin of pinion pine.
A golfer wears a sweater while she putts
Around her garden, tipsily tipping wine.
The seasons change in both the hemispheres:
The tidal oscillation, back and forth,
That rolls the wheel of time through rolling years,
Is bringing winter back to freeze the north.
All seasons change, except within my heart:
The summer of my love will not depart.