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Thursday, August 11, 2011

Harvest August, with its clouds of scented blooms,
August, with its great stacks of giant clouds,
August, with corn plants standing like rows of soldiers,
August, with watermelons, full and heavy, dozing in the sun,
August.
August, remember swimming in the lake?
August, remember baby Alice daintily eating berries from the vine?
August, remember Richie playing with the goat?
August, remember Donald practicing on his new saxophone?
August.
August, and its lightening laced sky,
August, and newlyweds Pat and Chet decorating their first home,
August, and Billy the Brave, Billy the Fearless, on his two wheel bike,
August, and shimmering memories hanging like drops of dew,
August.
August, the bountiful, August the full,
August, Mama hot, but smiling, over a platter of succulent roast chicken,
August, Daddy mixing her a frosty mint julep,
August, blessed harvest of memories,
August.
Mary Naylor

August Moon
August moon echoes of katydids and
the aroma of the lake that summer not
any special aroma, but somehow that
will always be in my heart along with
the first kiss the evening had in store
Hot summer days, and summer nights
with all the mysterious wonders that
lied ahead of my life each one of them
has left its impact on me till this very day
Being young, and turning into a young lady
from a tom boy certainly had its adjustments
in store for me
Remembering how to dive, wear lipstick, and
falling in love all in one summer's august moon
Bonnie Collins


August
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.
Donna Earle

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