Summer is a Gypsy Man

Summer is a gypsy man—it pains me to see him go
Sauntering into my life unannounced, yet welcome all the same
His warm radiance is singularly real, inciting hope—

Great tender, foolish hope.

He helps me shed the stifling blanket of winter,
The erratic outbursts of spring,
He begets hope of youth for a time

Such tender, foolish hope.

But his passion fades nearer to autumn,
He tempers to indifference,
I'm bewildered that I've lost him

Because of tender, foolish hope.

I surrender Autumn—committing myself to his shining memory,
Then seek comfort in Winter's suffocating embrace,
I tolerate the flashy wiles of Spring—hoping to see his face again

Damn that tender, foolish hope.

That Sort of Kind