She dreams of August in the singing morning..
When all the little things come out to play,
When every spider's web is sticky, lacy,
And every kid will have the pinkest day.
She fell in love in August as a girl...
His smile was melting smooth like green ice cream,
She wanted him in August and she got him,
He was her love, her every glowing dream.
August takes you back to yellow meadows,
To days when Grandmas made you lemonade,
To nights when how you begged to stay out later,
And afternoons with novels in the shade.
To kittens that you loved
and have forgotten...
To mom and dad who loved you for all time..
To him who waited somewhere in the hot night..
To kisses made of moonbeams..green as lime..
August, sultry August, month of magic....
Dragonflies become you...you are rare,
Fireflys annoint you with their glowing...
August burning month...your love I wear.
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Comments about this poem (August by Donna Earle )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
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