School has started, meaning my functional summer is over.

Untitled Poem

The summer is over, as scriptures would say,
The harvest is past, it’s the end of the day.
What have we to show for our months in the sun?
A bit of vacation? A few weeks of fun?
But what of the soul? Did we feed it on cream?
Will it last through the winter, that looming bad dream?

The summer is over, the harvest is past I’m indebted to Jeremiah for this phrase. ,
And whomever you’ve grown, you have now grown your last.