Allan Thorne - Escape From Summer

The birds had left the week before
But the leaves had lingered
Soaking up the last of the golden light.

They made a break for it
With the first blast
Of winter wind,
Swirling up toward black clouds.
But it was to late.
The rain, with drops as big as marbles
Beat them, beat them mercilessly
To the ground.

In the morning
The gutter was bright with
There crushed and mangled bodies.

Allan Thorne

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/escape-from-summer/