Dancing With the Stars
The squirrels are dashing here and there.
desperately filling winter larders.
They are still crazy for nuts, after all these years.
Autumn spurs the living and is a rest-home for the dying
it brings in new snow from the high hills
and turns flakes into cold raindrops.
The wind whinnies like a small wild pony.
Marginal changes happen
within a fluid hinterland.
Eyes get wider, feet heavier.
Kids get louder, expecting
God knows what.
Honey and tea for allergies
and sniffles.
The elderly
just sweep stiff crackling leaves
off their heads and shoulders
while asking the stars
for one last dance.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment