Rose, summer, flower


August remembers. Remembers the lazy days,
The childhood hours in the sun.

August remembers the rain and the pain,
The silent rooms and the hole in the ground.

August remembers the laughter and the plums,
The harvest and the straw bales.

August remembers the silly games and the long
Days that turn into nights while sitting outside.

August remembers the tears shed, us
All dressed in black and the silent supper tables.

August knows it arrives without warning – a blessing
And a curse. August creeps up, like a stealthy fox –

August will never be the same. August is children’s
Nostalgia. The summer. Just a month in a year.

August doesn’t care at all.

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