Lost Summer skies

Golden birch leaves,  
weeping for lost summer skies
the balm of evenings lit 'til nine
beer, dogs and children’s laughter,
climbing moorland trails
paddles in sheep lined streams,
curlew calls, hawk and bleating lambs.
Songs of innocence centuries old.
unscripted, rehearsed each dawn.
Ghosts of summer days invade,
crowd me round my little wood,
guide me through the storm
dry tears with ectoplasmic veils,
join with Autumn's mourning
as she soon forgets
remembering that tomorrow
was but yesterday