By Abe V Rotor
The Siberian High lulls you to sleep,
While summer heralds your birth
Into a kingdom regal yet brief
That reigns over a parched earth.
You greet the sun with garlands of gold,
Dancing the whole day through;
And soon explode into a thousand fold,
Only to fall and cease to grow.
Sybil’s ghost hangs, flowerless you stand,
Save pods dangling in dull chime
In the wind - then fall to the ground.
‘Tis the end of summer time.
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