Chaparral
The land sizzles.
Brittle grass
yellows the hills.
Live oak draw sparse circles
of shade.
Spiky shrubs
cling to the parched slopes:
red stemmed manzanita,
spiny scrub oak.
Hot wind rustles the leaves.
The chaparral holds its breath,
waits for the spark,
to burst into blaze.
Later,
in the ash covered ground
under charred trees,
seeds waken and stir.
8/1/2017
Copyright © Agnes Krampe | Year Posted 2017
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment