End of Summer For Sure - Version 1 - Sad
Looking out my window this 38 degree morning
I saw that:
The bushes are weighted down
with the moisture;
the droplets on the verge of
morphing into ice;
hunkering against the cold.
The weeds are dead and stiff
with the end of a dry season;
now wet, turned into intensely
deep shades of brown
and ochre.
The tall un-mown grasses
are matted down
by fallen leaves,
saddened by season's end
and wet with shiny tears.
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