One round white face, two/three
Days, ninety. Three months
since summer murdered those
cold tendrils. And now for nine,
resurrected again, she'll ache
down drizzle, ever, ever, ever
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6 comments:
I like it. I'm really frustrated by how my own summer was squandered this year, though.
Me too. I ought not have worked the first two months of summer. Poor decision making on my part. Sigh. It's so blustery out today. Dismal and blustery. I'm watching a tree get torn apart by a ground level cloud. Thankfully it's through a window... and I don't have to go outside for a few minutes, but, oh, the agony of imagining myself outside. Sigh. A thousand sighs.
I can feel the winter pressing upon my breast. I have the palpable sensation of snow in the hills filling my head and lungs.
We sound quite dramatic.
For sooth.
Hey Brad, I miss your poetry in my life. Can you get on that? :)
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