When Summer Ended.

I remember it was Autumn and the leaves where turning in their beds 
Covering up their green bodies with orange blankets pokadotted in red.
The sweet summer air had long turn stale and the bright blue sky had too, grown pale.
I sometimes wonder if he had known summer ended;
or perhaps he did but he just rather pretend that it didn't.

That summer I was 18 and he was as careless as the sparkling glimmer on the mid-day ocean
I gravitated towards him like a lost ship-man  in the unforgiving darkness of a summers night.
That summer happened in flashes of parties and songs, 
the clinking of plastic glasses and the kindling of fire.

I was a dazzled girl under the twinkling moon standing with my red cup accross the yard,
watching him laugh thinking he'd never know how sweetly the moonlight touched his face.
I saw goodness in him but he never saw vindication in anyones eyes,
he was a bad boy, surprise, surprise.

That summer ended with graveyard like backyards, his voice stopped echoing down my street
he was on the run and our songs where replaced with sirens.
The memory of his laugh interrupted with pounding knocks of authority on my door
I sat and gazed out the window wondering what happened to the summer we had once owned.

I remember it was Autumn and the leaves where turning in their beds 
Covering up their green bodies with orange blankets pokadotted in red.
The sweet summer air had long turn stale and the bright blue sky had too, grown pale.
I sometimes wonder if he had known summer ended;
or perhaps he did but he just rather pretend that it didn't.

I could tell by the knock it was him, lightly tapping wanting to come in.
He was dressed like it was still summer but blue in his cheeks and a shivering stature.
I gave him my favorite sweater, he smiled like he always did,
that sweet summer smile... 

and then disappeared.

I remember it was Autumn and the leaves where turning in their beds 
Covering up their green bodies with orange blankets pokadotted in red.
The sweet summer air had long turn stale and the bright blue sky had too, grown pale.
I sometimes wonder if he had known summer ended;
or perhaps he did but he just rather pretend that it didn't.