THE CUSP OF SUMMER
Geese in skies are on the wing.
The pointed flock, triangle-shaped,
Announce with honks the start of spring
When tall green trees are softly draped.
Trumpeting starts off everything
Once more. Black ...
A blazing sun caught in the trees
Attempts to set, but branches mesh
And hold the globe. Those rays they seize
Should now have been in Marrakesh.
We are just little figures there,
Absorbing errant ...
Worn chairs with no seats cluster where
A mirror gives back a dull stare
At memories of other times.
As leather books are losing rhymes,
They tumble from a cardboard box
Where fossils hide, within ...
One flower stands for beauty, two for hope.
More buds begin their version of cross-talk
With tangled leaf and strong, supporting stalk.
Subject to breeze, they sway but somehow cope.
Shadows of butterflies, ...