Cross posting to my own journal, a poem for
write_away.
A Season Too Late
The wind has blown and the trees laid bare.
The leaves are gone, our green shields falling,
Our house lies naked in the cooling air.
Construction unveiled we had forgotten was there.
Too late to hide projects we have been stalling.
The wind has blown and the trees laid bare.
Annuals are dying, perennials fade to nightmare.
Stripped of flowers, the garden is appalling.
Our house lies naked in the cooling air.
Our curtains are thinner than we were aware.
The neighbors, in our house, without calling.
The wind has blown and the trees laid bare.
No shrubbery to soften the dilapidated stair.
Now we can regret the summer spent playing.
Our house lies naked in the cooling air.
The refrain begins again,"Wait till next year" -
But promises must wait, we are retreating,
The wind has blown and the trees laid bare.
Our house lies naked in the cooling air.
A Season Too Late
The wind has blown and the trees laid bare.
The leaves are gone, our green shields falling,
Our house lies naked in the cooling air.
Construction unveiled we had forgotten was there.
Too late to hide projects we have been stalling.
The wind has blown and the trees laid bare.
Annuals are dying, perennials fade to nightmare.
Stripped of flowers, the garden is appalling.
Our house lies naked in the cooling air.
Our curtains are thinner than we were aware.
The neighbors, in our house, without calling.
The wind has blown and the trees laid bare.
No shrubbery to soften the dilapidated stair.
Now we can regret the summer spent playing.
Our house lies naked in the cooling air.
The refrain begins again,"Wait till next year" -
But promises must wait, we are retreating,
The wind has blown and the trees laid bare.
Our house lies naked in the cooling air.