August
The month of August in the deep south
Signals the first of many ragweed blooms
The lush greens toast to brown
The creeks finally run clear
And about one inch deep
Days are spent hiding from the sun
Energy seems to be burned away
Loki’s torch up to its old tricks
Excitement wants to build
A rain could change the seasons
But the dust-choked back roads
Have no relief yet
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