whence solace solar light
lining paths in polar night
withered resurrected leaves
tousled jostled premature fossils
in blades of eager sleep
each rustle, every tussle blown
tears asunder the fragments thrown
frosted lips of an earthen mouth
are showered by those who once towered
clay palette waits, wants early thaw
with ever-present and inescapable draw
sooner than June or even break of May
flow will fall upon limber toiled soil
a dirty grin will claim again its own...
the seeds, the deeds and the fragments thrown
No comments:
Post a Comment