Comments Inbox
| |
About This Poem
Too Hot
Look at you, August,
petending to be
a southern belle
all breezy and full
of mint julep.
Refinement is not your style,
a plague your eighth month sun
driven to scourge pastures,
blind cattle, wilt
bluebells and buttercups.
No southern belle, you.
©Kathryn M. Collins
September 26, 2012
|
|
|