Edna St. Vincent Millay
When poppies in the garden
bleed,
And coreopsis goes to seed,
And pansies, blossoming past
their prime,
Grow small and smaller all the
time,
When on the mown field,
shrunk and dry,
Brown dock and purple thistle
lie,
And smoke from forest fires at
noon
Can make the sun appear the
moon,
When apple seeds, all white
before,
Begin to darken in the core,
I know that summer, scarcely
here,
Is gone until another year.