Farewell to Summer
The dandelions have all but lost their yellow,
each seed-head windmill turbine, a gene pool
flailing fluff. A flock of Shakespeare’s fledgling starlings
lilts across the park’s parched brown, teasing
the toddler, closing in on pudgy legs, clutching
empty palms. This year I’ve x-ed the EX,
opting instead to say farewell to summer
foraging lest I be caught in fall
the cicada begging the lowly ant for crumbs.
A marvel (pardon the pun), how this fable
starring two pint-sized apostles of the kingdom,
that meant so little (merely a reading lesson once),
has turned literal allegory as September comes,
for though august emancipation is long gone,
in two weeks’ time, as Mum would say, my ‘free paper burn.’
©Cynthia James – August 2015
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