This Summered Dance, To A Deadly Chance. Poem by Michael Gale

Summered dance...
Without a chance.

Of catching up to the wind swept fall...
Shortly due, Winter's call.

Time aloney...
No bologney.

Whispered indifference...
By a Summer tramp.

Whinno's inspect, the alcoholic camp...
Here we be, with the hang-over-champ.

Can the catcher-istic player subdue his inadequate skit? ...
Will he the supposed master, make a home runnestic hit?

Whinno's in the outfield miss all their life's-balls...
When behind the wheel, their vehicle of life, sputters and stalls.

Summered chance...
At last-no dance.

A Wintry chill blow out to port...
Grave diggers in over time, sport.

The end....

Or is it? ..............