August Afternoon
The monsoon sky was bereft of clouds.
You, might have been in the middle of May,
The august sub at mid-day
Had brought back
All of summer’s melancholy.
But then the sun was covered wholly
By a driving, scudding, advancing rack
Of clouds dark with rain.
A few drops actually fell.
And suddenly rain was threatening to descend.
The birds squabbling on the grass fell
Silent, as if under a spell.
The yellow catkins of bloom on the acacia tree,
Glowed brightly in the gathering gloom.
Summer’s comeback was at an end.
