SF (February,4,1937 / W. Columbia, WV, USA)

A Call For August

There is a blue fragrance, essence of dusk.
The smoke of last things lingers on old clothes.
Sun has become as rare as goldenrod.
I call for August, but no answer comes.

Autumn awaits across a worn doorsill.
I need you to make sense of falling leaves,
When death paints a rich picture ot itself,
And shadows measure out the long way home.

User Rating: 3,5 / 5 ( 40 votes ) 41

Comments (41)

Scintillating with no word wasted.Thank you for sharing this gem.10 Best regards, John
wonderful meditative poem about the nature, lovely to read
My golden rod has gone to seed.
The poetic imagery of the last line, tenderly touches my mind! As lengthening shadows point towards home, an eternal refuge for my chained soul! 10+ -Raj Nandy
I call for August but no answer comes- such an achingly beautiful line. that's life. how through unusual images you convey the impermanence fragility of life. sharing ourselves with someone who understands is deepest human desire. i have read it second time. your poetry grows on me as a reader. thanks Sandra Warm Regards Mamta
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