Metaphor

The corn stalks' tops are turning yellow,
Somewhat late, because of rain.
Night falls harder, sooner now,
And that aforesaid rain brings with it
Air which seems too cool for summer.
Fall is coming. Morning fog obscures
The valley. Mourning becomes my
Main mood. The year, a life
In microcosm, has much longer
To go on, but, like mine, it has reached
The point where all its finest days
Are done.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 78 times
Written on 2018-08-29 at 12:34

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