A stiff breeze
Blows the final leaf from the willow
Onto the grey St. Augustine grass.
I’m staring
From the park bench;
Building a nest
Of thorns, bottles, and crutches;
A cold spot for my thoughts to rest.
Unlike the toupe on the ducks head;
And the child chasing the fowl’s feather,
Followed by a Mother’s loving glance.
Brings a warm wrinkle to fight a stiff breeze;
Today I won’t go grey with the grass.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 11:45 PM UTC
A stiff breeze
Blows the final leaf from the willow
Onto the grey St. Augustine grass.
I’m staring
From the park bench;
Building a nest
Of thorns, bottles, and crutches;
A cold spot for my thoughts to rest.
Unlike the toupe on the ducks head;
And the child chasing the fowl’s feather,
Followed by a Mother’s loving glance.
Brings a warm wrinkle to fight a stiff breeze;
Today I won’t go grey with the grass.