Poem – August – Dorothy Parker

When my eyes are weeds, 

And my lips are petals, spinning 

Down the wind that has beginning 

Where the crumpled beeches start 

In a fringe of salty reeds; 

When my arms are elder-bushes, 

And the rangy lilac pushes 

Upward, upward through my heart; 
Summer, do your worst! 

Light your tinsel moon, and call on 

Your performing stars to fall on 

Headlong through your paper sky; 

Nevermore shall I be cursed 

By a flushed and amorous slattern, 

With her dusty laces’ pattern 

Trailing, as she straggles by.