August

August-bright adamant, Purple, bright, sweet. It stores your talent And its taste is sweet and sour. In the last month of summer The area is standing and breathing heat. The foliage is ready to change color, And the butterflies fly in disarray. Vase at the open window, The harmonica is playing next, It sounds late here And this August will be a treasure trove. The lark sings a song As dawn breaks over the edge, And willow twigs cling With its green crown. Honeymoon August outside the window Plays softly on the pipe, Warm with Apple wine, Finish the bird trills. August leaves young And at parting gives a pear. Summer goes with it And sadness creeps into the soul.