summer is the dead time
all winter - when dripping rain
within the bounds of a pulled in coat
- I have dreamed of this
but now it comes
and like birthdays
it does not satisfy
the flowers lack the brightness of spring
and the long evenings
- well they just lack
and can't compare -
to the darkness of winter teatimes
but give it a month
and the august heat
give it the happy time of september
give it the frozen winter rain
- and the coat wrapped round -
for summer is the dead time
The Blue Book
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