Never mind. It is only a half —
Half of life, half of love, half of August.
And, no doubt, this month isn’t the longest,
But it seems to be so, but it seems...
Our tenderness grows in dreams,
Like a marvelous, wonderful flower.
There’s no reason to cross or to lower —
Sky’s lucid, and limpid, and light.
I was looking for you half of night
In my memory — desolate forest, —
Like enamored is looking for florist...
Heat is over, I hope.
You are right...