Small Summer

We do not know what happens
When summer ends, where we will get
Our calories, if not from ice cream, how
Beer will taste if we drink it inside.
We won’t imagine Christmas,
No knowledge of how we survived
The smell of winter coats and bare
Feet in wool socks for seven months,
Snowflakes like dinner plates and something
Called a frost quake. We can only blow
On dandelions, and wish on every firefly
That the earth will somehow slow
And the flowers will stay alive.