Mother Nature likes to tease us Oregonians with a few dry days here and there this time of year. "See that?" she taunts us. "That's what you can't have! Bwahahahahaha!!" She's kind of mean, really.
[blushes] Shhh, don't tell anyone, but poetry is one of my other creative outlets...
The Promise
The last leaves of summer, stained a brilliant yellow by November's icy breath, flutter helplessly to the ground like a beautiful last song escaping the lips of the wounded season.
We must endure the cold, dark spell until the soft pink petals of spring's blossoms cascade in a similar path of gravity and the song played out against the blue sky is full of the promise of a new beginning.
cousin03
1 year ago:
Celine C
1 year ago:
Add to this dialogue
slowdncr
1 year ago:
Celine C
1 year ago:
slowdncr
1 year ago:
Celine C
1 year ago:
slowdncr
1 year ago:
The Promise
The last leaves of summer,
stained a brilliant yellow
by November's icy breath,
flutter helplessly to the ground
like a beautiful last song escaping
the lips of the wounded season.
We must endure the cold, dark spell
until the soft pink petals
of spring's blossoms cascade
in a similar path of gravity
and the song played out against the blue sky
is full of the promise of a new beginning.
11/23/03
Celine C
1 year ago:
Add to this dialogue
Ron McKitrick
1 year ago:
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