The Changing Wind

A poem of August

The leaves click clack, kissed by a new crisp wind

down the winding road while the summer dims.

Yet green lingers with no thoughts to retire

but a kindling Fall sparks with backyard fires.

To change,

to wage,

to remain like so for another day!

For soon the dark will shroud the canvas out my window pane.

The click clacks shall cease, while the wind turns brisk

Is that the August of which I shall reminisce?