August always has its peculiar way to astound:
by which half the year closes as she comes down
perchance half my life, too, this time it seals
and my half-baked plans suffice to match a hill
(This time I'll cling to the last seconds of July
and hide behind the doorway just to await awhile
when August arrives, quietly tiptoeing the dark,
she'll find herself thrilled at my august hug!)
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