No joy in August
No holidays to celebrate
Or summers to anticipate
There is no joy
No hope for a last trip
Taking the last dips in pools
or oceans, water
glides off the body for the last time
Memories are real
Experiences are had
Not glad for August
Because there is no joy in August
Birthdays of people
That I am unable to celebrate
Thinking of harboring hate
for August because.
There is no joy
In the upcoming semester
pens and keyboards are abused
Autumn, where things die, whither first, just as bad
A precursor to sadness
Fleeting joys may as well be unreal
Better than to feel
the real joylessness of August.
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