From “The Poems of John H. Watson”
Reprinted by M.Vernet
The Missing Years 1883 – 1886
A Poem Of August
Hotheaded August worships Mother Sun.
It is hot before the day’s even begun.
The only month that makes you think fondly
Of snow, ice and temperatures wintry.
A young maiden on an errand of mercy,
Wipes her brow and feels so thirsty
She wanders toward the sound of water.
Not giving a care for whether she ought to.
The trickling sound, soft and cool,
Reveals in the woods a sparkling pool.
She stoops by the bank to take a sip,
Brings a hand with sweet water to her lips.
She dips again and splashes her face.
Looking around there is not a trace
Of anyone living near or far.
She has an idea that for her is bizarre.
She takes off her blouse and linen skirt,
Careful to lay them away from any dirt.
In a few minutes more her corset is sprung
Shoes and stockings all undone.
She slips into the water her dainty foot,
Nearly trips on a gnarly tree root.
Soon she is in the pool up to her knees,
Gazing around and privately pleased.
She thinks of her Mother, who would gasp.
Her Father who in his shock would clasp
His heart and wonder where he went wrong.
She smiles mischieviously, humming a song.
All at once an fierce August storm
Rumbles threateningly in the calm.
Dark clouds come to blacken the sky.
She shakes her head and wonders why.
The maiden struggles with her clothes.
Her parents will worry, her duty she knows.
Wild, hot winds usher in the rain.
Lightning strikes the quiet lane.
She ponders as she walks to town
With thunder, lightning, and rain pouring down,
If August knows how naughty she’s been.
For she was now soaked right to her skin.
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