In June, I thought of July, but when it came to be,
it was not as I expected. August came to mind.
When August limped on by, lingering much too long
for my thoughts, I rejoiced to see September,
but it dealt me nothing but disappointment.
Then October blustered in. I thought, here now,
this will match my soul, my every meditation,
but it was all for naught. I was truly flustered.
November came next and wilted all my dreams,
and December turned out to be like November:
harsh and icy cast. And so I waited for the new year,
and, sure enough, it came, but, it too, did not last.
If you've any comments on
this poem, J.D.Heskin would be
pleased to hear from you.