Awaiting The End Of August
P Paul Hartal
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The squirrels run and jump on trees;
Life rolls on towards September,
A lonely sparrow startled flees
Off it flies, a vacationer.
As summer wind veers to the north,
Lacy moods alter, but steadfast
His mind meanders around and forth
Awaiting the end of August.
A rose, she steps out from real dream,
A sunlit swan, pearl of desire,
Tangible longing in glowing gleam,
His throbbing heart plays a fiery lyre.
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