A Summertime Sonnet

The summer season hangs low with the thick stickiness of pure honey, slow, outwardly stagnant.

Sirens of chirping birds, trickling waters, soft staccatos of the piano.

Oh, how rich summertime feels! How brilliant!

I listen again, to another's voice as it wisps around syllables, carried by the breeze -green and mellow.

With hair that curls along the swaying of the grass,

And cheeks of full bloom, red and repressed.

His gaze carries mine, alas!

Bringing summertime butterflies swarming to my chest.

How short the season is beginning to feel,

How temporary;

When his eyes become a memory unreal,

With the knowledge that each fleeting moment will fade by February.

Although his beauty will not surpass,

This summertime sonnet will outlast the last.