Melancholy Unsayable
When summer falls away,
I find myself beneath a bending willow tree.
Inside myself, I'm weeping along with it
as its supple limbs tremble in September's wind.
A harvest moon appears as if to mock the sun,
a sun which not so long ago had shone profoundly.
The willow's branches sweep the shadows of fleeting days.
I shiver in the gloaming.
Nov. 24, 2017
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2017
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