A Poem a Day for the Rest of August; 1st poem

It's Cold in August


It's cold in August when
It's dark at nine a.m.
Bees and hummingbirds
Are  too immobilized by chill
To venture out to do their work,
And may even pass away before
They get a vibration from that source
That we all worship: the sun.
I love morning, always have;
But this mean twilight is
Is neither of the day or of the night.
"Marine layer" to the weatherman,
Doleful un-morninglike gloom to me.
The end.

I'll always write "The end," unless the poem is the only thing on the page.  Today Alexander left for his home. He was a perfect guest and it was a pleasure to have him here. I still can hardly believe he came, and he has already "went." YAZZYBEL