Soon it will be the time for the ironing
To discover, to deepen the colour blue
The blue that speaks as in the Speakeasy
Jazz nights at the Upper George, or down
The stainless steel road, at the Silver Fox
The blue which inks, as Pelikan ink stains
The letters sent to a lover, or the words
Penned by one, yet meant entirely for another
The jeans are dry, the wool socks too
Soon it will be the time for the care of folding
To organise and to tidy the altogether neater you
The you that changes, for to change comes easy
For dinner at the Idle Rocks hotel in St Mawes
Or for Ladies Day at Glorious Goodwood
The you that struts his stuff or poses as the flaneur
Finely cut; by a tailor or by an experienced brute
Worn as a suit-jacket with silk stockings and brogues
The morning was dry, the afternoon so too
Soon it will be the time for the drawing in
To phase out the summer, to give me another clue
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