His Somewhere
He loved that summer hovel.
In the middle of nowhere (his somewhere).
With its misty hills of emerald spires.
Fireflies to kiss the night.
Fall arrived, exposing a tin shed on the next hillside.
Every time he gazed out the window.
The shine from the shed, shackled his eye.
One sentinel of shine crushed an army of dreams.
Once again, he prayed for summer and its thick canopy.
Copyright © Anthony Biaanco | 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