It is August!.
A dying breeze floats through a tree like a wisp of cotton!.!.!.
The leaves barely move!.
In an old hayfield,
A sleeping, aged soul lets go of the world!.
A final, content sigh creeps from his cooling lips!.
The final breath joins the fading breeze!.
In the same moment,
Without much ado,
A new soul slips through the atmosphere!.
She wriggles her toes and smiles!.Www@QuestionHome@Com