August, Nebraska

Wordless, we wait for the rain to come.
I guess we've gotten dull. Cicadas
Rasp above in trees. The wind has
Died. The lawn looks sure to follow,
If the sun returns. The years which
Passed purloined our passion. Now,
We sit and sweat, and feel no impetus
To act or speak. We rise. We dress.
We eat. We sleep. We bring our
Drinks onto the porch, and, wordless,
Watch for rain.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 53 times
Written on 2014-08-04 at 19:00

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