Today's poem is another summer poem, Christina Rossetti's "Summer Is Ended." Remember if you like the pod, we could use your help. Rate and review wherever you get podcasts.

Here is the text:

Summer Is Ended - by Christina Rossetti

To think that this meaningless thing was ever a rose,

Scentless, colourless, this!

Will it ever be thus (who knows?)

Thus with our bliss,

If we wait till the close?

Though we care not to wait for the end, there comes the end

Sooner, later, at last,

Which nothing can mar, nothing mend:

An end locked fast,

Bent we cannot re-bend.

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