Summer Fling

I reckon you were spring
turned into a summer fling
skimming rights of passage
still cracking when you sing

you on verges of ending spring
I, in a harvest moon
merged, we did, in summertime
a time that ended all too soon.

So when I dim in winter light
you, as the clock flies
will only emerge just in harvest
asking forgiveness for your lies

but too old to remember
then when you lived days of spring
turning us into a summer-fling.
1