Ninth: August
So August comes to its soporific twilight
and furtively stares at September,
stance indulged in reassuring ataraxy
August blinks
September earns
September, bearing its comely plethora of dulcet promises
Woe, those of August
For it is fugacious and dalliant
Woe, September, mocking the children of August with its desuetuded and dissembled comeliness
But reap not your earnings of despair, children
All is August demure and dallaint
It will return again, and again
"And so on?"
And so on.
"Why?"
Denouement
Copyright © Nhloe Varforth | Year Posted 2016
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