Forewarning of August
It is a clear and cloudless Sunday morn.
August heat has yet to show its true form.
Air so still, doesn’t move the silk of the corn,
Only sound heard is the bees as they swarm.
Present are the signs of a coming change,
The ubiquitous green begins to wane.
Friendship with the flowers becomes estrange,
Queen of flowers, the rose resigned her reign.
Watched many lilies grow to such great height,
Filling the air with sweetness while in bloom,
But now I watch such a pathetic sight,
Floating down each petal falls to its doom.
Though sad, there should be no grievous pain.
It is not death, merely taking a rest.
Needed for their strength to regain.
Soon to return in full beauty and zest.