All is still and summer green
(far too hot for most to stir)
Wild life is hidden by leaves' screen
Insect calls are a quiet purr.

In midst of season all still grows
fawns, squirrel kits and even plants.
The living forest rests, it knows,
that soon will come the harvest dance.

Anticipation slowly builds
as August quietly rolls around.
Crops putting on their final yield
sustenance from warm dry ground.

Even the wind now holds still
hounds barely glance at a stray hare.
Birds sing with a muted trill.
Lazy bees hum in the air.

It seems the poplars can not wait.
They have a couple leaves of gold
as they strive to meet their fate
when autumn turns their fellows bold.