Sweet that is the sun laying down. Warm gold. A final desperate embrace, before time speeds off into the future. That pungent smell of wet leaves; lover like, clinging to my nose.
All things deciduous must sleep, sweet sleep. And the ever green pine, the sole standard for life, in this street light landscape. That turning from green to gold, marks times passage, poignant deep and lasting. This dearth of life should be swept away, in the frost of a storms first passing.
Sweet dee dee dee
The winter sings silent for the spring
Sweet dee dee dee
How long is fortune gone by the wing.
4.12.2010
Robert Frost can stay
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment