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August

    Big moon is coming,
          see the silver light,
               shining on the water,
                     and the pearls on the dew.
Listen, to the sound of the wind, as the leaves flutter, in the shadows of the woods.
The Cricket speaks well, of the echo in there, with it's washboard fiddle, it clicks in the glare, of the light of the moon.

. . . by Kurt Vymlatil copyright reserved 2005