The beach is quiet now where voices cried And feet thumped eagerly the hard-packed sand. The bouncing beach balls must have bounced so high That gravity refused to bring them back. No brilliant parasols accent the beige In multi-colored gaiety. The shore Is just itself - unvisited, except For two who walk the edge and comb the foam For shells. Above, the whipped and wind-swept clouds September-cool and solemn, hold their peace. And even gulls are nearly silent now As if they sensed the summer was a dream. Hold to it, if you can, O summer heart! For winter, in the wings, would play its part.