August Rain

As the rain patters against the pane

The sun is no where to be seen

The flower buds are closed

Hiding the beauty, the beauty that had been

An afternoon in the middle of summer

The fires lit, the flames dance

To the music that plays on the stereo

And we could of taken our holidays in France

A bottle of whiskey sits on the table

Locked is the front door, off the hook is the phone,

As we cuddle on the couch

You look at me and say “there’s no place like home.”