August
August sits back, his work is nearly done.
Contentment shows; he can afford to smile.
He brought us measured rain and golden sun,
helping crops; never failing to beguile.
Thawed out and gladden hearts, if for a while.
Through his hard work our fields will feed us still,
as we bale and store for December's chill.
He's made us sweat, but we forgive, for this
is his true role and nature's solemn will -
He's earned eleven months of quiet bliss.
Written 30th August 2016
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