August

The boy was born coldly, for the purpose of none.

He was pink and breathing, with lips that quivered lightly from the small breath

Mother and father cooed over their bundle among the services of the house, all smiling contently

A joyous day Father, a joyous day

But deep, deep in the catacombs and dark stellar moves is a secret upon a chill 

that would perhaps ill all those thankfully

The baby boy was not meant to be born

August was never meant to be cold...