'End of August' always seems to have a lonely ring to it and if offered
I'd do 'June-July-August' all over again...
of course, there are always days we would not want to repeat so the order of day-to-day is perfect...always new.
Still, why does it keep surprising us so, as we tend to its urgent due?
If we are busy life is beautiful...pity the one with idle mind and hands, born for trouble!
When in the thick of push and shove
Of life and love’s incumbent dues
While flower-gardens spill profuse
Arrangements from earth’s treasure-trove
...and Summer, like time’s finest gown
Begins to fray along the edge
Where stray threads silver sun-kissed sedge
And grained gold drains from nature’s crown
…when in the thick of hold and scold
As arms enfold what none can stay
While rhetoric of day-to-day
Is always turning new to old
We turn with startled my, oh my
To wonder when its haste is spent
Where all the days of summer went
While we were tending its good-bye