An Almost Perfect Summer Day

“Excuse me, there’s autumn in my summer,”

I complained to the old man who’s walking

By and he said “Let me explain, brother.”

(And I laughed and said I was just joking.)

“I weaved this day’s warp,” he declared sternly,

“From the last year’s finest early autumn

Gossamer threads, all covered with firmly

Pressed spring leaves weaved with flower blooms. Some

Times, when the most perfect sunset ray burns

Through and the blue and green fabric is soaked

With afterrain flower sweetness, it turns

So heavy it rips and the autumn pokes

Through,” he said. I looked at him for a while…

“Who are you?” And he smiled a summer smile.