It Is August

It is August; the walnut-leaf

Though barely birthed begins to fall

Where lawn and garden’s languid sheaf

Is drenched with dawn’s dew-laden shawl

It is August; now the air

Is heavy with gold harvest-dust

As rye and barley’s treasured fare

Spill answer to a farmer’s trust

It is August; sun-flower grin

And sunshine, honey-slow and sweet

Induces us to linger in

Its afternoon of flip-flop feet

It is August; planting time

For memories of ebb and flow

…of tide to sand; its rhythmic rhyme

To recollect when cold winds blow

It is August; summer’s grace

As seed grows heavy with its yield

And we grow high on Queen Ann’s Lace

Fringing fence-rows of wood and field

It is August; on the breeze

We sense a bitter-sweet prelude

Of summer’s sanguine memories

Slipping into thought’s solitude

© Janet Martin