August Poem by J.I. Stuart

Hot beams lance down
Melting the ice away
The wintry wind wails no longer
This cold August snow
Turns into December's golden feast

Birds fly in formation;
Tree leaves sway from side to side;
Clouds gather in small huddles,
discussing the weather;
Grass shoots shoot up once more,
their roots replenished;
A Phoenix nearby hums his Ode;
Tranquility is in place,
after the long bitter wait;
Alive, now, is the world

The chill of Summer may be gone,
but Summer shall never be still.