The Diminution of Summer's Song

It's not what one distinctly sees.
The high reported less intense.
The low slips down a few degrees;
Wetter dews and mists commence.

What was budding, blooms and falls;
Ripening fruit on trees hangs high.
Birds flit in throngs with chirps and calls;
Fledglings' hues intensify.

Anticipation has two sides;
Will mosquitoes, timely, freeze?
Reminder every day provides
Enough, then, for one at peace.

The season's gradual cycling down ,
Or teetering just on the edge,
A night of crispness, droll old clown,
Ignites the barberry hedge.

The groans, "Another scorching day."
Fade away, as we turn in.
Cool air brings rest to weary frames;
Lulled by cricket's sweet violin.

But watch. Just see the status quo,
Now allowed to set the scene;
The sly envoys of fall say, "go."
Flame's color replaces green.

Again, while we procrastinate,
A year moves to its peak,
Slips in before delights abate;
Both regret and welcome speak.