Summer, Slowly Dying

 Summer, Slowly Dying.

In the twilight’s sigh where the sun begins to fade,

There’s a figure with a shadow in the heat of the charade.

He walks through the golden haze where the summer dreams decay,

As the sun dips low into the night’s velvet sway.

Summer, slowly dying, in the whispers of the night,

Where the creeping shadows dance in the fading light.

Summer, slowly dying, as the dark starts to creep,

In the twilight where the echoes of the past softly weep.

The street lamps flicker like ghosts in the cooling night air,

He’s a phantom of the dusk with a vacant haunted stare.

The crickets play their tune, and the wind begins to moan,

In a place where the summer’s warmth feels cold and overblown.

Summer, slowly dying, in the whispers of the night,

Where the creeping shadows dance in the dying light.

Summer, slowly dying, as the dark starts to creep,

In the twilight where the echoes of the past softly weep.

As the moon takes the stage and the stars start to crawl,

There’s a murmur in the night like a forgotten call.

The man’s footsteps echo through the silent path of gold,

In a world where the sun's warmth fades and shadows grow bold.

He’s a drifter of the dusk in the dying summer’s dream,

With the whispers of the dark where the moonlight’s cruel gleam.

Through the empty, haunted spaces where summer’s ghost resides,

He’s a wanderer of sorrow, where the daylight slowly hides.

Summer, slowly dying, in the whispers of the night,

Where the creeping shadows dance in the dying light.

Summer, slowly dying, as the dark starts to creep,

In the twilight where the echoes of the past softly weep.

In the endless twilight where the summer’s grace is torn,

He walks into the fading light where the night is forlorn.

Summer’s slowly dying, in the stillness of the night,

As the man drifts on into the darkness out of sight.