August, shrouded in a pollened haze, lazily bats her eyes at the beating sun as a heavy humidity envelopes one after another of rolling afternoons.
Long drawn, the cool, green shadows
Steal o'er the lake's warm breast,
And the ancient silence follows
The burning sun to rest.
The calm of a thousand summers,
And dreams of countless Junes,
Return when the lake-wind mumurs
Thro' golden, August noons.
William Stanley Braithwaite
Last Week's Thursday Thrill: