In late August, the wind blows dust
And a plastic bag flaps.
Perhaps this little rhyme of ending summertime
May engage on yellowing page
When I am below
And can not know
For the hearse
Takes all verse,
Though poems may stay.
In late August, the wind blows dust
And a plastic bag flaps.
Perhaps this little rhyme of ending summertime
May engage on yellowing page
When I am below
And can not know
For the hearse
Takes all verse,
Though poems may stay.