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the lace of light beneath the poplar tree
And the trill of cedar waxwing, waiting.
Elderberry promises and grasshoppers, whirring.
A washed-out too-hot sky
above a jungle of my own making.
Leaves whisper-weaving tall tales
into the story of summer’s progression.
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.
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Comments
Ah, a summer to delight all the senses, and poetry to share it.
Posted by: Michael | July 29th, 2015 08:31
lovely 🙂
Posted by: sarah | July 29th, 2015 17:40