The pond is dumb and numb

In the impossible embrace

Of  summer  expectations.

The Summer- Cashier will come

And reap the debts with gilded scythe   

Thus paying for wildest dreams  

With the least of a remorse

Unable to retrieve the excitation

The mob is fingerly erasing

The mud stuck in severe creases

Of promised undelivered dream

No matter if you reckon to outlive  

The reverberational tsunami  

Your carcass is still there sprawled

An easy prey for any Prowlers J

Good luck in taking any chances:

The dusk is getting very near

To cover your unrelished bidK

You so wished….