Summa

It is the burning month
Sharper to the nose than to the eye
Hotter and cloudier
Summer come louder
Autumn could never be so high

It is the month of ghosts
Rising on sapphire smoke they peer
Connecting faintly
Gossiping daintily
Thrilling the unexpecting ear

It is my month of birth
When the Cam ran dry beside the field
When I met Hawking
An uncle gawking
At me, the ugly August yield