Am I a Summer's Day
Am I a Summer’s Day?
By Sy Roth
Do I compare myself to a summer’s day?
I think not,
Winter’s chill perhaps,
Cold rivulets of icy waters
Coursing down a crenelated brow
A morose psalm to an ancient soul
A toddler’s wobbly steps taken down a bumpy road,
Rocks kicked up along dusky, chilled ancient iters,
Toted memories borne in metal hods
Black rimed with coal dust
To ward off wintry chills.
Humped to the lean-tos
Quickly, in the hurried winds of time,
Detritus carried along in waves of my own confusion.
And the summer’s day an illusion of
Tripping down bare-tree lanes.
I am the winter of my own discontent.
Copyright © Sy Roth | Year Posted 2021
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