July

July rolled into August eight,
thunderstorm lever on the roofs of villages,
on the surf pebbles, on the fire, on the
sunset melancholy blood;
was coming to an end, breaking a fragile hat
crude fiber of the mushroom,
rolled down the valleys without looking back
and rains the crops are bent down;

He created gnats and mosquito wings
ringing sound, and sticky heat,
produced newts from eggs
and he dictated to the currant: "grant!»
At the Zenith of the world, in the summer of apogee,
the premiere of the baked cake,
July sat on August's neck, -
in September, raining to enter.

Disclaimer: I just found these in my library. I do not have the rights to them,
I just them and decided to share them with you.

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