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 )
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