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.
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