The end of summer

Early May, the beginning of summer,
Vibrant colours and fresh air engulfed us,
Where once the buildings seemed grey, dull, lifeless,
Like black and white photos of days gone by
Now postcard perfect against the orange-pink sherbet sky,
As young teenage feet scuffed concrete,
Treading the familiar streets on which we grew,
Like hounds, we followed the scent of cut grass and,
Our lungs swelled with joy as our clumsy fingers,
Formed daisy chains among a bed of emeralds
But infatuated with the season,
Neither did we notice nor care when,
At half past seven, the bitter smell of iron punctuated the air,
Perhaps for a moment we tasted metal on our tongues
Like sucking on coins, but just as quick, it was gone,
Although we were just sixteen and brimming with hope,
Our young hearts, confused, sank when we learned that,
Whilst we had basked in the evening sun,
Not too far away lay one of our own, still and cold,
On a path frequented by cyclists and his t shirt we had heard,
Once brilliant white, now seeped in crimson red,
All too soon, our love affair came to a sudden halt,
The buildings and clouds resumed their usual post,
Towering above us, grey and sombre, our summer ended as quick as it had come