August

She’ll come at dusky first of day,
White over yellow harvest’s song.
Upon her dewy rainbow way
She shall be beautiful and strong.
The lidless eye of noon shall spray
Tan on her ankles in the hay,
Shall kiss her brown the whole day long.
I’ll know her in the windows, tall
Above the crickets in the hay.
I’ll know her when her odd eyes fall,
One May-blue one November-grey.
I’ll watch her down the red barn wall
Take down her rusty scythe, and call,
And I will follow her away.