A poem in August.

Narrowed days and bitter winds,
the unforgiving way we begin.
The root and the bud and the swell and the birth
The newness, the hope, the distillation of Earth.
We linger in drafts of pollen and dew,
the emergence of life, the colorful hues.
The days arch their backs like a cat on a sill,
the air becomes warmer, the trees become still.
The heat of the earth, the haze hanging round
oh how we beg the season to crown
for the jewel of them all, the reason we thrive
anticipation unbridled; as autumn arrives.