Last Day of August- A Poem

New Moon in ♍>♎

Vibrant green leaves sink as they droop. The zestful and fresh now looks worn and tired.

The morning sun apparently pale, blinds whilst low in the early view. Droplets of dew still linger.

I shiver in the shadow, yet roast in the light, children watch a bee groggily making it’s way on foot.

Clouds gather, but no rain comes down, the sky as blue as forget-me-nots.

There’s a shift in the season, a chill in the air. Lazy days enriched with anticipation.

The sun sets a blazing copper, damp in the air despite the clear sky. The first leaves are already being burned.

The moon rises a burning orange, then a thick yellow until she ascends into her silver brilliance.

Not quite full, yet pregnant with promise, like the season to come, we wait.

Ok, the photo was taken in September, but the sky was similar.

Here in the UK, we get what are called Bank Holidays which are our version of public holidays. There’s always one at the end of August and I wanted to catch that feeling of the last half of summer.

Locksley. /|\