It is Summertime, and the death of poets

When early daybreak comes beckoning

The breeze is easy, the sun swings low

Where near nude men and women go

Swimming, in the shimmering light

Of Summertime, and the death of poets

Couples laughing in the setting glow

Clink cans of beer together cheers-ing

When the breeze is easy, the sun swings low

There’s no more talk of Michelangelo

There’s no more ice that will suffice

In Summertime, the death of poets

Who only thrive when the air is cold

And whither away in warmer seasons

The breeze is easy, the sun swings low

At last a day that can provide

At last a reason to go outside

The breeze is easy, the sun swings low

It is Summertime, the death of poets.

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