A Summer Lost

I sat amongst the earth’s garniture
in a sober sadness.
Once green, laden across her breast;
now coated with ash-crimsoned vest,
summer has left her vale of tears.
I know her heart is without stain
and she reminds me of warmer days
when summer vine in her beauty clings
to the mellow blush of day.
Like passions springing from the dust,
they fade and die.
Under the swaying barren boughs
are tears and a broken heart,
when came the parting hour.
Summer is lost.