The goldenrod’s bright yellows indicate,
With ironweed’s purple, quite a gaudy type,
And August is. Beyond the pasture gate
There is a watermelon thumping-ripe.
As every ear-worm spawned by Satan knows,
The fields are full of red and yellow corn,
And small now, down between the husky rows,
A pumpkin-face is waiting to be born.
A Monarch butterfly in richest sheen
Stops on a zinnia, and sits embossed
In priceless art. Let August paint the scene-
Too soon she hands the brush to old Jack Frost!
by Ray Romine Wednesday, March 31, 1954
