Ah days of golden strands, moss-rimmed swirl tides,
recede as once relentless summer march,
of sunshine hordes, childhood zest, and clogged shores,
may seem a blurred azure skyline treasure.
for  chilly margins of dark grey season,
but yet undaunted a challenge relished,
at the cusp of seizing ventures ahead,
of deadline, that last gasp summer fragrance,
green blade fertile meadows at vivid dawn,
loss of inhibition before the fall