“Slow as Sunday”
Published in
1 min readAug 28, 2016
August warm days
Slow to start-
Ease filled days
And bustling hearts;
Heads a haze
Mind a mess-
Butterflies float
Past plump fed bugs,
Waiting for
The feast of fall.
Heavy little gluttons,
August’s waning hours,
As air begins to chill-
In night time
It touches ground,
Gentle-
Like an ice cube,
Slow as Sunday,
MeLtiNg down-
Drip drop drip drop.
Soon to change,
As Earth must turn,
Creeping toward
A winter moon.
But now,
My August,
Slow as Sunday-
You warm my heart.
