Tall clover lurch lazily
In the russet wind, a
Pleasant dilation of glitter
Sparkling on a splayed
Umbrella, its slender arms
Broken.
Bushels of waxy grass
Roll into the flickering light,
While morning dew soothes
The yellow surface of August,
Stalks dried to hay by the sun.
Horned orange ferns caution
Intricate webs of fleshy blooms,
Even delicate lavender flowers
& white and yellow petals, that
Swaths of thistle have been
Shriveled brown, their purple
Heads lost to time.
Hard soil welcomes the town
Kneeling in a crimson meadow.
YOU ARE READING
Someone Like Me {Poetry}
PoetryWith power there come words. And with words there comes music. And with music there comes joy. And that's why I write poetry.
