The season where cicadas sing,
the reason for dragonflies’ being.
A time to bask in the glory of the heavens,
a time…for goodbyes.
 
Like an adroit seamstress you’ve woven,
threads of our lives intertwined;
like a nibbling, fumbling squirrel you’ve littered,
reminisces aplenty,
glazed with honey, sprinkled with memories;
of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings.
 
You’ve danced, pranced, caroused;
you’ve smiled, cheered, painted;
you’ve been the dragonfruit of my eye,
until the moment you said goodbye.
 
And now the cicadas they don’t carol,
and now the dragonflies they don’t dance in line;
and now the house, it echoes,
of trance laughter, indie sadness.
And now the sun it wants to hide,
behind the clouds so it could cry.
 
Did you know summer came by,
on the night of April 25th?
Did you know summer departed,
stolen by the scheming August under my eyes?
 
I waved, you teared;
we embraced, you left.
The lingering warmth, the playful smile;
the sparkling eyes, stained shadow.
You made a Sinner cry,
you’ve warmed a polar’s life;
you’ve brought a tear to the turtle’s eye;
one who would normally just lie.
The memories you’ve left, I’ve kept;
The void you’ve left, I’ll forget.
I love summer; I love you.
I killed summer, for taking you.