Spiders are spinning their webs,
I hear pears falling,
Birds are still, yesterday
They were singing and calling.

Grapes are swelling now,
Globes of silver green.
Their leaves lie close, but the sun
Slips in between.

There's a blue haze in the air,
A butterfly's questing flight
Leads where petunias bloom,
Crimson and mauve and white.

Goosenecked poppies are dead —
They have had their flaming hour.
Marigold buds are green,
They wait for the yellow flower.

The goldfinch sits like a jewel
By dried hollyhock seeds,
The wayside is adorned
With vivid weeds.

The fields are dappled brown,
The barns are filled
And sweet with hay that spills
Clover distilled.

August's a quiet time.
Do you hear pears fall?
Cicadas all day long
Flute their high call.

The katydid's sharp note,
Prophetic, cries the hour
Of bins for the fruit
And death for the flower.