Is it not strange this August rain?
What does it mean? Nothing I fear
The wild summer heat, the garden grass green
Yet you sit and crave the cold fleeting days ,
a sip of hot tea and a few words to read
in the long quiet night by the fire's side.
A month lost as you long for winter to come along
And perhaps in that sense I'm a lot like August forever out of focus
Rambling in the middle like some unsolved riddle
Unbeknownst to the world always a little less loved
