Grey shadows flicking under the oak trees,
The last summer marigold song of the honeybees,
Paint in the fire from the beacons in bare fields,
Put blush on the apples as summer yields.
Note where the swallows are ducking and weaving
Once more round their nest in the eaves before leaving.
Breathe in the perfume from the last of the roses.
It lingers around us as summer’s door closes.