Poem by Life member Louis A Coutts

AUGUST

There are wild days in August. Winds that wring the last breath of winter cold that pierces the sunshine and imprisons spring.

A month that says that summer shall never come, that camelias and blossoms are but frauds when winter clings to bursting blooms and icy hands and defies the sun to make those fingers thaw.

A month when firesides are friends and embers burn warm messages across the hearth creating tiny enclaves from the autumn cold while stories from the fire side are told.

But August is a month whose time has come and at the end its final chilly tale is spun, it’s last cold breath is breathed across the earth when nature to the beauty of a flowering spring gives birth.

- by Life member, Louis A Coutts