December 30, 2014 The long, silent whispers of Summer, have finally faded. Drifted into the sleep of Winter’s embrace. It’s as though the fields have forgotten her. Sacrosanct in their indifference and frosted expanse. Instead of balmy breeze, Winter’s hand falls, with a strong and opinionated wind. The pawl of gray sky, wanders lethargic, drifts didactic-less. Always falling short of a Poet’s expectation. Herein lie the bones of Autumn, and Summers forgotten, an open grave of snowy reclusiveness. I seek and wait for the moment of Sun’s return, And the caress of Summer’s lips upon my brow. Fashioned and festooned in gloried greens and yellows. Let me sing an early soliloquy for Winter’s early end. To celebrate its passing welcome spring back once again.
Posted on: Tue, 30 Dec 2014 16:55:54 +0000
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