unnamed

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)