August
August, thou art not so kind
As the sweet soiree of May or June
You lack the patience that I find
In September’s hearty harvest moon
August, how you burn me so
While December’s embers play it cool
July can’t even spurn me so
And April’s yet a showered, flowered fool
August, thou art not so harsh
As the icy jaws of January
Warmer still than windy March
Or the frosty fangs of February.
Copyright © Ina Goodling | Year Posted 2023
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