A Sonnet for Summer’s Ending

I love this time of swan song summer days
when autumn is not quite here but her red

fingers, fresh with new paint, like a child, plays
at tinging the leaves’ edges overhead.
I love the silver-pearled webs appearing
here and there and the bare hint of cool breath
of dawn giving up the ghost to cheering
sunshine’s last glad hug. It’s a sweet, good death.
I love the apples, green and big, bowing
their branches under weight of fruitfulness.
I love Charlotte’s smiling pink mouth chowing
down on one, her bright joy all truthfulness.
Childhood and age dance in these days of light
departing into tender starlit night.