This is the end of summer, I think
like dandelion seeds blown by,
as you descend the waterslide
all too quickly.
The calendar says that summer will stay
until mid-September, when the equinox
tips the balance of days down the autumnal hill,
rolling in leaves on the way down,
and finally landing in a snowbank.
My mind insists that summertime must last
at least these final weeks before school bells
ring an end to morning naps in the sun
and afternoon swimming pools, and evenings with friends.
But I cannot help feeling that here
the year is flying past, already wheeling south,
an early harbinger of changing winds,
beneath the soft breeze
breathing in my window.