Another summer is gone. I did not much enjoy this last one, but that is a failing of mine; I should have done better with what I was given. I did my best. A son of Georgia does not love the summer as much as those further north in any case.
Yet it is gone, and with it that part of our lives that shall never return. The autumn lies ahead, and for Southerners that is a fine thing: cold cider and warm fires, and the turning of the leaves. Still, for what I should have done and have not done, should have thought and have not thought, should have felt and have not felt, I pray thee mercy, Lord.