It came to be that summer was the end to his life.
Then suddenly it turned cold.
The call that day cut like a knife.
Too hard to hear the words that were told.
My mind stood still as we prepared to go.
Hoping time would stand still and not flow.
Not capable of thinking as we traveled the road.
He knows he can't go on anymore and he will never grow old.
The summer ends - amid our whispers of I'm here- I love you said soft and low.
