Ninth: August

So August comes to its soporific twilight and furtively stares at September, stance indulged in reassuring ataraxy August blinks September earns September, bearing its comely plethora of dulcet promises Woe, those of August For it is fugacious and dalliant Woe, September, mocking the children of August with its desuetuded and dissembled comeliness But reap not your earnings of despair, children All is August demure and dallaint It will return again, and again "And so on?" And so on. "Why?" Denouement