Wednesday, August 24, 2016

Weary


Weary brown moth chillin'
in the alley shade
on an asphalt and
dandy-lion rye weed
grass oasis,
while the universe rusts.

The world is transitioning.
Winds shift to blow the 
dead leaves away.

The children of next summer
lay in wait for their turn 
in the eternal procession.

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