August - A Poem

This is a poem I wrote last August lamenting the world's tendency to rush through the end of summer. :) Enjoy!

I feel sorry for August, because Summer’s end
Just happens to happen when it ends; and then
It’s back to school, and fall, and cold -
Yet that’s only after August is old!
Then why, as soon as July is done,
Does everyone gloss over August’s fun?
It seems there’s a page missing in the calendar today,
For where I read “August 1” – “Oh! It’s back to school!” they say.
But August is its very own month, with as many days as July,
And it has 31 days to offer us before the honkers fly.

It is a month of golden days and skies as blue as sea,
Of Queen Anne’s lace and goldenrod and sapphire chickaree.
The thistles just begin to bloom, the gold wildflowers grow,
The clouds are piled up like lovely mountains of white snow.
The glad green trees, scorched by the sun, are patched with yellow leaves,
And the corn looks like it’s ready to be gathered into sheaves.
The locusts raucously make their noise so cheery – buzz, click, zing!
The birds think their songs much nicer, so they sing them, proud and prim,
While the gold sunflower turns its head, emulating the sun’s every whim.
There is time still for picnics by the lake, reflecting, blue, the sky;
There is time for fun and laughter still, before the honkers fly.
There is time to read a shelf – a room – a library of books;
There is time to count the endless stars, to put wriggly worms on hooks.
There is so much time left in summer still – the best is yet to come -
The golden days of summertime, before dear August is done.
Oh, don’t get out the pencils yet – put the schoolbooks away;
And let’s enjoy these lovely, lazy, long, sweet August days.
Someday Fall will come. Don’t rush it. It’ll get here on its own.
Right now it’s still the Summer Time – and it will be ‘til August is gone.


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