Worship

Summer Is Gone

Today, summer slipped over a golden hill
And drifted away;
Like low-voiced laughter that lovers spill
Down a crooked lane,
Like the gray last note of a whippoorwill,
Like departing murmur of silver rain.

Today, summer slipped over a golden hill
And away;
But I care not a bit,
For the autumn has come and brought with it
Red sumac that flames by the old red mill,
Deep patches of quiet purple shade,
And goldenrod standing tall and still,
In corners the old rail fence has made.

         Myrtle Vorst Sheppard