Summer Ending Poem by Daniel Brick

In summer the pace of things
slackens and loses its winter
regularity. Dates blur, days blend,
we age into a green happiness even
the cool air of August cannot dispel.
Are we foolish to maintain a summer
attitude even as autumn steadily changes
the landscape to the threshold of winter?
Let our green thoughts prevail, until
snow and ice and cold make such cogitation
untenable. I will simply be a man of summer,
still grasping the slightest sign of its
sweetness and light. All too soon events
will descend into memories of the seasons'
hardships, and we will be pleased with any
change that puts us in "a summer first"
mentality, but not for long: winter produces
its most persuasive arguments in the decline
of summer's benefits into into winter's spendthrift accounts.