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Favorite Season
Folder:
A New View .
Turn Earth, whirl at Sol's
knees, drink the darkness,
swallow whole whatever light
and warmth is granted a torn
and weary surface.
.
Unshared bounty, it is time
Rome shared spoils and gave
tribute to Romans. Now, where
did I put that toga?
.
Like a sun up earlier, clocks
left alone, loose soil silently
stirred by seedlings, old
sleep shed clusters of green
stretch, metamorphing.
Here, a word is trilled as fields
turn bright yellow, then blue.
.
Spin and change, evolve
and adapt as you must, Earth.
You will with or without us.
Some lonely god will perhaps
grant us secondsies. As
observed by many a bard,
we have so much potential.
.
Lady A
.
A thick, fine piece
I'm happy to see that your collection here is starting to regenerate. Much to read.
Let us hope that moths eat all the togas, that we may have many, many more beautifully fluttering "butterflies of the night" and, also, more naked emperors.
I Am Rewriting
Things are moving so fast. I am taking it slow. Time to write some pretty poetry - if only Iowa has six more people following a tornado weekend. Cat-3, damage. I have been okay -luck wise, an odd state I barely recognize, with extreme Putin events swirling about. Butterflies, the Monarchs migrate from Canada in spring crossing Michigan heading South. Migrants. Anyway, truth illusive days are worth commentary too. Found my togas, Emperor moths got to them though, and so now I contemplate and meditate on all the great questions like "What if Rome WAS built in a day?
.
Thanks for the chuckle. ~S~