July is sad

July is sad, and cries openly,
with a cool, pouring rain.
He does not accept consolations,
neither on a quiet night, nor on a noisy day.

He does not hide his sadness,
and says: sobbing, with a thunderstorm,
He upsets me with this,
and makes me whine, sometimes.

And this would be normal,
if autumn, suddenly, came,
with a fully conscious bad weather,
and with this took the soul

into the world of unfortunate melancholy,
into the sad pool of oblivion,
where there is no languid happiness,
where the harsh meaning of being.