Everything but bold

This month of August

This summer, I will tour the world,
I will climb the hills and gaze from above,
I will sing with the birds of the clear august sky,
And I will pick gay flowers in the garden.

Augustus, I heard you speak,
"there will come soft rains",
Hysterical, I laughed hard,
But the early morning sun seems to agree.

A month of rain, a black august,
Day after day, the sun disappeared,
Promising a bright full moon,
In anticipation of the worst summer.

And on this day, it began to pour,
Soft as promised, consistent still,
But tonight, my soul goes solitude,
Through this cold infinity.