THIS AUGUST DAY
This August day is like an unwritten poem
and if I could I’d write it for you.
I would tell you how tiny bits
Of puffy white clouds skitter along the
Open expanse of the azure sky.
They sail along just as leisurely as the
Many boats that bob up and down on
The gentle undulations of the
I would tell you of the blazing
Sun that hangs high above us like
Some gigantic nugget of gold. It
Shines its strong pure light on the
Flowers and fields and makes
Us all wealthy with the richness
Of its radiance.
I would tell you how the soft
Tap-tap-tapping of the carpenter’s
Hammer echoes from somewhere
Down the lane. Its rhythm marks
The time, yet chips away at the
Hour that passes.
I would tell you how the apple
And pear hang heavy from the
Bough, and through a daily
Miracle grow richer in color and
Plumper in size. They strain at
Their limbs nearing ripeness, but
Still are not ready to fall to
I would tell you how the scents
From the hollyhocks and impatiens
Mingle in the air to subtly
Weave a tapestry of sweet aromas.
I would tell you how the trees
Sing a song of summer’s passing
In the quiet rustling of their
Slowly turning leaves. Their
Melody rises and falls with the
Languid exhalations of the day’s
Yes, this August day is an unwritten
Poem with invisible words fluttering
About as softly and silently as the
Monarch butterflies that pass overhead.
In the net of my mind I will try
To capture some of them and give to
You this day. May it rest upon your
Heart as delicately as the monarchs
Alight on the waiting mums
And share with you its sweet nectar.
Copyright © Bruce Schuhart | Year Posted 2012
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