February 15, 2017

August saunters in, serene in her grace
A soft puffy cloud
In a veil the color of the heavens
Her iridescent train
As far as the eye can see
Is spun in silken thread the hue of golden sun


And July unimpressed turns away, pouting
With lips purple like death by frost
Head loftily held
Upon that pale neck
She hoists her gowns the color of mist and takes her leave






Made of Sand
Not Dura, but Alaminadura

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