Sunday, July 8, 2018

...a sadness.

At summer's green and golden heart,
there's a sadness lurking deep
in the shadows of the flowers,
in the whisperings of leaves;
all spring's promises now unfolded,
each fruitful burgeoning now cast,
each day's sun a little lower,
each summer's fog a sly rehersal,
for a snowfall still unthinkable.

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