Rewrites

Some months or years ago - I can't remember -
I wrote a poem that I can't recall.
It spoke of love from June until September
And how a summer fling could feel so small,
But I forget the words. And they don't matter:
The sentiment is really all it takes:
The rest is filler: pointless, idle chatter,
And in the scheme of it, is no great shakes.
Yet it should be important, for I know
Much more now than I'd admit to then,
Including how a new romance should go
And so I'd like to write that one again
Replacing June with quite another date
And poor September with an endless wait.