It's A Mockery

Summer makes a mockery of spring, you didn't sing
until it was nearly gone, it's a people thing;
then too late, the blossom fell, lost its spell,
replaced by yellow magic cast by Tinkerbell.

There were no seasons anymore, timeless aria,
that delivered bon homie with constant euphoria;
they sent me to lands where you've never been,
or would comprehend lifestyles or what they mean.

We became brown - some wished to whiten skin,
if you had a choice, you may not know where to begin;
no matter how much literature you may choose to read,
it's doubtful by end of summer, any clarity would succeed.

Fading light reminded me to travel towards the sun,
when I reached the end of the Earth, I knew that I'd won.