When morn in late September sunlit dawns,
Presentiments of autumn nowhere seen,
Nor wintry breezes, nor the touch of rain
That lately has defiled so many days,
And in its stead the warm caress of air
As temperate and all-embracing as
At summer’s peak, but with a plangent strain
For well we know its like won’t come again
For many months, we take ourselves outdoors
And share with friends of vintage old and new
A draft of vineyard’s fine fermented crop
And orchard’s too, together with a feast
Unmatched in time’s remembrance; yea, we glut
Ourselves on flavors fair and, fairer still,
The gentle hand of Helios on our all-
Unburdened bodies; thus we meet the end
Of summer’s season with defiant mien.
You say tomorrow beckons, cold and drear,
And well you might; but for today we play
In summer’s final bounty of delight.
“A Wake for Summer,” by the Outdoor Co-ed Topless Pulp Fiction Appreciation Society.