Dear sweet Augustine,
How far away the summer seems,
With its promise of firefly nights,
And honey-golden dreams.
Soout of reach those barefoot days,
When the sun caressed our face,
With the softest angel rays.
When every rainfall meant a dance,
Through a field of four-leaf clovers.
When every star had its own wish,
And every pebble was turned over.
The road was so much clearer then,
When the dipper was our only guide.
With one foot so sure of the other,
No path from us could ever hide.

Oh sweet Augustine,
Those days went by so soon,
Too early the sun was replaced,
By the cold and lonely moon.
The lake by which we lived,
While lightening struck the sky,
Now covered with winter's blanket,
Trapping those moments of July.
The waves that bathed our feet,
As dulcet crickets graced the night,
Have swallowed every skipping stone,
And swept them from our sight.

Now sweet Augustine,
The summer's fading again it seems,
As above the stillest of lakes,
A fiery sunset gleams.
While the crickets take their bow,
The waves kiss the shore goodbye,
Then the sun sinks into the ocean,
Splashing the kaleidoscope sky.
Casting one last glowing embrace,
Painting the tips of every tree,
The summer bids farewell,
To my Augustine and me.