The Garden of Poetry

Dear reader,
Summer is over, and it's time to head back home. As I look through the rear door glass, I find myself hoping to see you for one last time. Our favorite jazz is playing on the radio, and I know for sure I've caught that summer love syndrome. I also know for sure that next summer, I won't be seventeen anymore. Next summer, I won't have anyone with whom to share the straw of my lemonade. I have trucked in the drawer the photos of us by the shore, trying to preserve them, preserve us, but I know that nothing will be like it was before...so I'll turn you into a metaphor, just to make sure our love can last a little bit more.
Autumn passed, and now I'm home, sitting alone in my little chamber. I'm wearing your sweater, the one that brings me back to summer. In an instant, my memories feel warmer.
December has come, and I'm getting older, but time isn't taking its time. My heart still aches for your soul.
My lover, my lover - spring has come, are you searching for me in your dreams, in your thoughts? I opened the drawer, took out our photos, and all I'm feeling is torture.
My lover, my lover - June has come. Are you looking through the rear door glass, hoping to see me by the shore?