August closes its chameleon days
With cool rains grasping
September’s delicate fingertips
Just beyond reach
Large and loquacious flowers
Hint of exhaustion with a slight brown curl
And a less pronounced posture
Hiding in the days’ murmurs
Winter, death, change, surcease
And perhaps resurrection
I will miss the summer
Its life and vibrancy
And I will cry secret tears
When you slip away
Poetry and Verse 