Blooming flowers whisper as gentle breezes embrace them
Tracing their tongue-petals, iridescent in the heat of the day
They whisper of the promise of Spring's wrath; blooming skies, flying swallows and the gold of the sun
They whisper of secrets, their lush, streaked leaves brushing as the word of Summer's death flies from creature to creature
The grass blades sway; priests in prayer
As they mourn for his warm touch
Shrinking from the fruitful fragrances and chirping chants
Yearning the mellowness, the hell that helped them thrive
For Spring is but a dangerous whisper, hushed and swift in her killing
Bringing with her poison pollen and honeybees full
Till she vanishes in a breeze in a flash
Leaving Autumn to sweep away her trash
Only the grass blades know of Spring's alleged plan
To wither, ruin and raze the land
With sweet honey words and razor smiles
She kills slowly, poisoned sword of epidemics in hand.
YOU ARE READING
Unturned stones
De TodoI speak for those who can't, won't, shouldn't, etc. I also speak for myself. Because why the heck not?
