The dried seeds
of Summer
await the wind’s
release
like the
momentary worries
and those that
never cease,
like the cares
and snares
of everyday
that furrow
through the peace
they tarry at the
doorstep
on a ninety-nine
year lease.
And slowly, ever
slowly
the breeze opens
up the door
for the sun to
enter
with Autumnal
core
for draught
caress
or clumsyness
to liberate the
spores,
future days or
unsought ways
and promise that’s
in store.
No comments:
Post a Comment