Summer
.
slows
.
a
n
d
.
comes
.
t
o
.
a
.
close . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
a
n
d
–
–
–
I’m
.
alone
.
o
n
.
the
.
road
.
w
i
t
h
.
nowhere
.
t
o
.
go . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
~ I’m
alone
.
o
n
.
the
.
road
.
w
i
t
h
.
nowhere
.
t
o
.
go . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
now
.
t
h
a
t
.
summer
.
slows
.
a
n
d
.
comes
.
t
o
.
a
.
close . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
Summer
.
slows
.
a
n
d
.
comes
.
t
o
.
a
.
close . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
Summer
.
slows
.
a
n
d
.
comes
.
t
o
.
a
.
close . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
Summer
.
slows
.
a
n
d
.
comes
.
t
o
.
a
.
close . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
along
.
w
i
t
h
.
all
.
o
f
.
those
.
places
.
w
e
.
used
.
t
o
.
go . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
~ all
.
o
f
.
those
–
–
smiling
.
places
.
w
e
.
used
.
t
o
.
go . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
t
o
–
–
–
blow
.
n
e
w
.
highs
.
out
.
o
f
.
old
.
lows . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
~ we
would
–
–
blow
.
n
e
w
.
highs
.
out
.
o
f
.
old
.
lows . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
i
n
–
–
–
those
.
places
.
w
e
.
used
.
t
o
.
go . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
We
.
would
.
blow . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
We
.
would
.
blow . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
We
.
would
.
blow
.
t
h
e
.
entire
.
show
.
o
f
.
gold,
.
a
n
d
.
glimmer,
.
a
n
d
.
glow . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
~ we
.
would
.
blow
.
t
h
e
.
entire
.
load,
–
–
before
.
summer
.
slowed
.
a
n
d
.
came
.
t
o
.
a
.
close . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
s
o
–
–
–
I’m
.
n
o
w
.
alone
.
o
n
.
the
.
road . . .
–
–
–
.
.
.
~ yes,
I’m
.
alone
.
o
n
.
the
.
road
.
w
i
t
h
.
nowhere
.
t
o
.
go.
Reflection: This is a personal struggle-themed poem in which the contemplator looks back on a recent experience binge filled with fun, excitement, and adventure. When the experience comes to a screeching halt, the contemplator finds himself/herself alone, poor, and empty – looking at a future that looks pretty dim. I was playing the wonderful song “Los Angeles” by Dougie Pool and the poem pretty much wrote itself from that (while playing the song repeatedly on low volume to create the “moodset” for the poem) and was written fairly quickly – like an hour or less. If you listen to the song at low volume while reading this poem, you might better get the “feel” of it.