I Can Be Fickle This Time of Year


O, August, you lie at my feet,
Languishing in summer’s glare,
Chewing lazily that blade of grass,
Humming the cicadas tune while
I sip lemonade on the porch swing.

July took me on picnics
And filled my sky with fireworks,
Brought me roses and daisies,
Strawberries and kisses
Tasting of salt and sand and sea.

What’s your plan, August?
September beckons slyly from
The woods, inviting me to
Walk the orchard, promising
Apples and crisp repartee.

Am I right to leave you, lazy
Lover, for another’s cool embrace?
Will September light a fire
And warm my heart?
Where will you be then?

Still stretched out on the lawn,
Languid and long, smiling at
My impatience. Saying,
Stay with me a while, sip and swing.
September will wait.


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