November’s Coming Promise

Could it just be me? I wonder at this humid time of year.
My heart seems oddly lonely, and my eyes fight back a tear.
A locust mesmerizes me with a droning buzzing song.
Tree leaves seem drooped and listless. The days are hot and long.
And driving past a lake today, I'm sure I heard these words.
"I'm weary of the people and the squawking sea-gull birds.
I long for sweet October, when the boats have left the docks,
And my surface is like mirrored glass at the turning of the clocks."
Yes, August hovers over me, with an obtuse hollow pain,
I'm shedding tears in dog-day's heat 'midst tepid pre-fall rain.
I yearn for youth's pubescent days, so innocent and new,
And for erotic teenage love, 'neath summer skies of blue.
Yet, new seasons of my life are born, as night gives birth to day.
I'm older now and youthful lusts, like birds have flown away.
So, will there be remembrance, or any record of my dreams;
Of this simple verse that came to me from pastel star-lit beams?
I'll seal my thoughts within a jar, and for these dreams I pray;
When comes the spring release them on some Lilac breeze in May.
Thus, August comes and with it brings a hope, though it be small,
For God sends cherished memories on the painted leaves of fall.
So, leaning back into my chair I'm blessed, and this I know,
The promise of far sweeter joys when comes November's snow.

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