Souvenirs of Summer

Summer sun
hanging low
like four o' clock
on a sunday stroll

silhouettes
black paper trees
rays that stream
through waxy leaves

Everything seems slower
yet it all goes much too fast
breath in your souvenirs
all your tokens to the past
the incandescence waning
with the turning of the leaves
summer evenings stolen
by a band of autumn thieves

blades of grass
shapes in the clouds
where dreams wander
and live aloud

but clouds shift
as do the days
and grass will die
with winter haze

(Chorus)