August first,
and leaves falling in a cascade
from the big birch in the front-yard;
thunder in the far distance,
and as random raindrops fall
from the violet clouds,
the hot days of June and July
are a dead memory like you,
dim reflections in a puddle;
tired, and almost past caring,
I can't but see myself
in the tree encountering
its early autumn.
01.08.2021
#Poem #Poems #Poetry
Ei kommentteja:
Lähetä kommentti