“August”

August

Ah, crap, August comes /

And I feel so incredibly dumb. /

I had plans to do so much, /

Now they lay piled, an incomplete bunch. /

I planned to travel, to go far, /

But did not make it beyond my car /

And to the chores that needed doing /

That had been brewing and chewing /

Up all my time /

Until the world sublime /

Has moved to August as it now stands /

School and promises hand in hand. /

Maybe next year I’ll visit a museum /

And to libraries — well, I can still go see them. /

Maybe check out a book and make plans /

To go, next May, to some far off lands.

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