This Summer's Final, Sleep. Poem by Michael Gale

Before, the last dried leaf, had fallen...
Jack Frost had sung his, Winter's final call-in'.

The breezes brought, the winter chill...
That would grab, all the flowers, to a freeze-dried, kill.

Snow flakes had fallen...
To blanket all the Earth.

Spring, was now forlorn, and sullen...
From the winter's, cold-en birth.

Summer, is now, offed as gone...
No more plant life, amid the, snow white lawn.

Winter's blanket, now covers every thing, that's seen...
Every inch is cloaked in white, nothing, be a-green.

Ice sickles, hang from every, branch and tree...
If anything, that winter has taught us, is, Summer was not, for free.

The creatures are hibernating, in a state of, silent, sleep...
Summer's time is dead, for this fact, we all do, weep.