It had been beautiful. <br />It should be. <br />It was Summer. <br /> <br />Your warmth, <br />Your heat, <br />Your extended day, <br />My vacation. <br /> <br />But the gray man of Autumn doth come. <br />For you, <br />For me, <br />For us all. <br /> <br />He comes with a raggedy, rain-soaked jacket made of tweed and hyperhumidification. <br />And he pan-handles for those dreams of Summer gone. <br />'Give me your pool parties, ' he begs. <br />'I need them to get me by. <br />I was a veteran, you see, of all life's wars, <br />and now I'm blind in my cloudy eyes.' <br /> <br />How can you say no, <br />You can't say no. <br />It's not an option. <br />It's off the table. <br />Like Summer's grace. <br /> <br />So take my dreams, cruel Autumn, mid-to-late. <br />For it is too late for my dreams of midnight.<br /><br />John W. McEwers<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-rainclouds-of-mid-to-early-autumn/
