For Pony. I tried.
August's past. They don't know
Summer's almost done. The still-
Green leaves in all the trees suggest
They haven't understood. The
Nights are getting cooler now.
The days grow short. The corn
Has gotten brown. It dries. The
Geese begin to turn to fly back
South again, and you work
But one day a week. I feel as if
You'll soon be leaving. Summer's
Almost done.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 63 times
Written on 2015-09-15 at 01:29
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September
Last gasp: the rasp of the cicadas.August's past. They don't know
Summer's almost done. The still-
Green leaves in all the trees suggest
They haven't understood. The
Nights are getting cooler now.
The days grow short. The corn
Has gotten brown. It dries. The
Geese begin to turn to fly back
South again, and you work
But one day a week. I feel as if
You'll soon be leaving. Summer's
Almost done.
Poetry by Lawrence Beck
Read 63 times
Written on 2015-09-15 at 01:29
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
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