Sum"mer, n: A period of fruition, fulfilment, happiness, or beauty.
(Webster's Revised Unabridged Dictionary, © 1996)

During those final winter days she told me,
Softly smiling, “Cricket was my Summer Love.”
Hearing the thwack of leather on willow or pad,
Tasting summer strawberry teas, I nodded, smiling back,
Not knowing then of Cricket or of Summer Love.

Tucked under the stockings and lace of her bedside drawer
A newspaper clipping, finger-worn and frayed.
The inscription, ‘Samuel Cricket OBE, lost at sea’.
Her words remembered, “Cricket was my Summer Love”,
And thinking of a torrid Summer fling, I smiled again.

Talking of plans to renovate the cricket buildings, grounds
The architect in technical mode drones on and on,
“The summer-beam holds up the floor.” I start.
So Cricket was her Summer Love. No little fling but all
That bore her up long spinster seasons gone.

Little left but one old cutting, five remembered words.
House sold; her garden turned to wilderness;
The cricket pavilion deserted, falling down.
Too late to ask of Cricket or of Summer Love
Now that her winter’s past, my autumn’s just begun.

09/08/2004

Author's Note:
Another challenge poem, (sorry James!) this time a poetry slam in which 100 poets from around the world had 24 hours to write a poem of no more than 20 lines, any form, on the subject of Summer love. This poem got a commended. I received a book for a prize :)

Posted on 09/08/2004
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