Burnt August

The child of Burnt August 
Became an old man 
January, the next morn 
A full shepherd’s moon 
Led him in full bloom 
As Saturn’s rings 
Held him tight 
I ask myself, 
“Why, Florá, 
Did we send him into that vast night?” 

He followed along 
With the transient traveller 
He flew through the night 
Though he followed no pattern 
I paved a way for him 
Through means of song 
Now I ask myself, 
“Why, Florá, 
Did we have to wait so long?” 

His statue grew clear 
Void of life 
It appears 
The sky opened on 
Just a promise 
Of his song 
He flew with the wind 
Landing upon the black star 
And he asked himself 
“Why, August, 
Did we take it all too far?”