Last day of August
Summer in her honey phase
Autumn, blushing like a virgin
Caught staring at her groom
And me, counting wrinkles
New gowns, old gowns
Same spin
Different aromas
Even the fruits have another kiss
What to tell about the dawns
More cruel, more bitter
More pain at their burst
Or you prefer the dusk
That wound cutting your breath blunt
Leaving your joints to sore incessantly
Sad songs
Last day of August
That day when poisoning with nostalgia begins
Apt images capture the mood of this lovely poem.
Thank you so very much, VijayNair!!!
One for the cognoscenti of the sepulchral.
Thank you, Louis Kasatkin!!! Very accute observation!!!