ON THE ONE HUNDRETH AND EIGHTIETH DAY OF THE YEAR

They're mowing the hay and

flowers on the long fallow fields,

and who knows how many bird

nests will go with them.

Empty, one hopes, by now, like

the fallow fields have become,

all that tall hay and flowers

laying on the wet earth.

01.07.2023

#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse