The sounds of summer are resonating in my ear;
the cacophonous hum of the lawn mower drawing ever near,
like an unwelcome bee parading in my presence
taunting me with its unpleasant end;
a reminder that our defence can be our downfall.
The aroma of the freshly slashed grass rising up to my casement ajar
whilst I can hear the bell signalling the end of school from afar
replied by the reaction of raucous, unrefrained cheers
of children who have plans of late afternoon merriment,
hoping that my den is still intact from last decade's adventures.
Meanwhile, I am sitting in the sorry shade of my mind,
wanting the freedom of Summer's youth to let me unwind,
and whilst I enjoy the exhorting, endearing fresh sunshine
I can no longer find the juncture, context and company
that once made me feel as light as the flowers that float by my confining cage.
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