Late summer


Like a guest
reluctant to depart
the summer lingers.
Trees cling
to their brassy leaves.
Grass, overgrown,
is rank and sour.
Heavy, lethargic, dull.
we wait
for scouring gales
to strip the trees to skeletons,
remember enviously
the smell of burning leaves,
the creak of snow under foot,
the luxury of shivering.


5 thoughts on “Late summer

  1. Jack, I really liked this poem. I am a strong proponent of metaphor, meaning I try hard to use simile only when I have to or because it works for the poem. I think that you could simply either drop “Like” as the firest word, or start the poem with ‘It is a guest…’ which turns it into a metaphor and presents a mucch stronger image right at the beginning for the reader. But either or it is a good read.>KB

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