August strolls in with golden grace,  
Sun-kissed warmth upon her face.  
Fields aglow in amber light,  
Long, soft evenings turn to night.  

She hums a song of ripened days,  
Of twilight walks and purple haze.  
The crickets chirp, the cicadas sing,  
Her air is thick with summer’s ring.  

The sun sits lower, yet still it burns,  
As earth to her slow slumber turns.  
The orchards swell, their bounty near,  
The harvest whispers, "Autumn’s here."  

But not just yet—August pleads,  
Let me linger through the reeds.  
In rivers cool and skies of flame,  
Let us rest, untouched by change.  

She holds our hands through waning green,  
A bridge between what’s been and seen.  
A month of gold, a fleeting friend,  
Who warms us softly to summer’s end.  

So welcome her with open arms,  
With lazy afternoons and charms.  
For August comes but once a year,  
To teach us how to hold what's dear.