Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Eighty-One

Again, and again, lightning flashes.
Small rain patters into the green pool.
Summer’s at an end, old tiresome fool
Messaging fall with dots and dashes
Stretching across a cold, tattered night.
The signs all point to early demise.
The clouds stumble through the clabbered skies
Chasing the owl in its lonely flight.
Somehow, in this place, you and I thrive.

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