Summer Deceit

Ah, summer how you do deceive
Warm summer days we still receive

But evening chills give us the signs
And we can read between the lines

Golfers praised that greens rolled true
But suffer now, aerated blues

The leaves on maple trees behold
A yellow, ochre, red and gold

The pretty leaves began to turn
Showed shades of brown and no return

Destined to be a young child's pile
And lastly, then, a compost pile.