August

 

The grass and dry leaves rustle in the breeze, 
Into the garden fly the autumn bees.. 
The birch is whispering its sad song, 
A farewell to summer all night long.. 
It often rains in, there’s a hole in the roof, 
Against drafts a dressing-gown is no proof.. 
There is still time to fold the tennis net.. 
The smell of drizzly August morning one never forgets.