When I was a young boy, all those centuries ago, the end of summer was very bittersweet to me. Bitter because it meant my brother and I said goodbye to my mom and left Kansas for the next nine months. Because we rode the train back to my dad’s home in Texas for the next school year. And it was a sweet time, too. Because I love autumn. And I actually looked forward to going back to school.
Today, September 21, 2026, mark the end of another summer.
And it’s on this day every year when I think about those boyhood years nostalgically. Now that I’m back in the southern tier of America, the first day of fall won’t take on that same feeling it did when I lived all those years in Colorado. But this year, it definitely reminds me of those first days back in Texas at the end of summer and the start of fall. Still way more like summer than autumn.
During my last couple of years of high school, I became a poet. And I’ve continued to work on that ever since. Once I graduated high school, I moved to Kansas full-time. My mom and stepdad offered to help get me started in the “real world.” And I loved the rural Kansas lifestyle. Plus, there was a girl. Good grief.
Anyway…
I used to drive around the rolling hills and farmland of eastern Kansas with a plastic Bic pen in my mouth and a trusty spiral notebook on the seat beside me in my car. When I saw something, or someplace, that inspired a word or a phrase or an idea, I would stop and write a poem.
And I felt like sharing one of those with you to end the summer this year…
Those Dewy Morning Flutter-by Songs
If I could only look through those amber eyes again,
I could see those lovely childhood days.
The days my father cherished.
Those times that never perished.
I would run by his side
Through the dewy, silent morning,
And the flutter-by birds sang their morning songs…
Those dewy morning flutter-by songs.
Then, the clock would steal the hours,
And I’d be welded to the powers of the fireside twinkles,
And my father’s whispered stories.
All the draperies were drawn,
And very soon the room was gone…
Lost in the world of those dewy morning flutter-by songs.
When I think nowadays
How my life was seldom bored,
I feel so empty all inside.
I have lost the knack for freedom.
Bring me truthful things; I need ‘em.
Give me someone’s side to run by
Through the dewy, silent morning.
And listen…to the flutter-by birds
Sing their dewy morning flutter-by songs…
Those beautiful songs,
Those songs of my past,
Those dewy morning flutter-by songs. © 1975 TF
Most people who ever read that poem told me they like it. And I liked it at the time. But I read it out loud, now, and it falls way short of what I expect for myself now. I suppose that’s a good thing. Because I guess it just illustrates the progression that leads to better writing. And I’m grateful to God that I’m still progressing all these decades later.
Now, who’s ready to roll out the pumpkins and get this new autumn going?
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