It's August and the cool spell is over.
Days heat up like love coming back
but you know this lover
and they be like that.
The walnut leaves look tired and dry
like an old washer woman's skin.
The tree's still lovely as the sun climbs high
but no May morning beauty again.
August and the flies on the screen
are in afternoon as crickets are to the summer moon.
I'm tired of tying my hair back and watching shadows lean;
let the smokey tang of autumn bring my first love back--soon!
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for What's Going On? ("August")
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