Tuesday, 19 August 2008

August

I can't pretend to be a poet. And I wouldn't seek to even convince you that I had even heard of 'R. Combe Miller'. However, having spent the last week in my allotment shed sheltering from the grey rains, when I read these lines from Mr/Mrs/Ms Miller...

"Fairest of the months!
Ripe summer's queen
The hey-day of the year
With robes that gleam with sunny sheen
Sweet August doth appear"
... I have come to realise that poets know nothing.

Not about meteorology. Or rain. Or Britain in August, anyway.

7 comments:

Daddy Papersurfer said...

It has been a tad disappointing of late ...... still we must keep our peckers up mustn't we Mr Blunt?

70steen said...

Hark it is summer
Don't you know?
a British summer
Don't you know?
Some rain,some hail
& occasionally some sun

Don't you know?

The skies grow grey
Don't you know?
There must be sun
Don't you know?
still it rains, clouds remain
who hid the sun

Don't you know?

Autumn is almost here
Don't you know?
Leaves will be falling
Don't you know?
the rain pours, and skies are grey
sun is away

Don't you know?


hey ho!! :-)

sylvied said...

lovely poems though :)

70steen said...

what even my little ditty lol :-)

Gail said...

Indian summer must surely await - and heading to Torquay as I am, I sincerely hope so!

70steen said...

Oh you have to post another blog as I can feel another poem coming on !!

August! August!
Aghast at your lull
you promised us sun
But you never succumbed!

September is near
Your sun dips away
Autumn will visit us
Still you never succumbed!

August! August!
You hid from us
We longed for you
You hid your face & never succumbed!

Sunny shores abroad?
Is that what we must strive?
To see beyond the clouded skies
Because you never succumbed!

Autumn, winter?
Summer, Spring?
Is there any difference?
None can tell as you never succumbed

[feel free to delete lol]

70steen said...

Dang I was hoping that you hit delete lol ;-)