'Where harvest fields surrender yields that capture heart and eye'
'In the sheen of sunflowers beaming from sage-bristled stalks'
'Where gardens grin and we begin to gather in toil’s laud'
Its almost August; month of age-old accolades renewed
Where morning, ripe with golden sun highlights sweeps silver-dewed
Where harvest fields surrender yields that capture heart and eye
As crickets start to serenade the ending of July
It’s almost August; beauty-tones delight the commonplace
In purple loosestrife, chicory, yarrow and Queen Ann’s lace
Where gardens grin and we begin to gather in toil’s laud
As fruit and flower melodies spill through our touch to God
It’s almost August; heartstrings get tangled in hollyhocks
In the sheen of sunflowers beaming from sage-bristled stalks
In the keening awareness in each honey-suckle bloom
Of moments weaving echoes from the threads of summer’s loom
It’s almost August; hummingbirds and honey-bees abound
We take off shoes to stir the dust and dew of holy ground
To revel in the bevel of a bowl tipped upside down
To showcase blue, blue eons on a cloud-disheveled crown
It’s almost August; weep not for the parting but give thanks
For bloom-embellished garden paths and lily-laden banks
For arms we cannot see that draw and sweep us off our feet
As wonder and desire meet in tangos, bittersweet
It’s almost August; farewell, farewell, my darling chérie
My sweet July, we cannot keep at bay time’s surging sea
But, come what may, of August’s day, July's memories made
Are gathered in a coffer no hand of time can invade
© Janet Martin
