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The Fifth Season

When I dream of sun graciously leaving the scene, I could feel how crueler in these-days he has been; Hasn't the dear summer said his grin-filled goodbye? Why, then, is the naughty sun still high in the sky...? From hot, days and nights have turned hotter and hottest, Hot breeze has changed into melodious flautist; How long will the children play? How long we must work? Why the day that dawned long ago, does not turn murk...? Crows and pigeons on water tops, often take dips, Each love bird in cages each minute water sips; Ice creams, though so cooingly wet tender palates, Heat beats the crowns of our heads like many mallets...! Peal of thunder; cloud-to-cloud lightning; no rain yet, Consensus betwixt summer and monsoon seems set; Dog-days, like fire and pans, have come and gone, Why dryness within, yet, is lingering alone...? Roses fresh; mild mist; spring though seems arriving near, Prickles and pains from foot to head I greatly fear; Midst magical moist muggy muttering movements, Fifth season, like sense fifth, flows free and innocent...!!! 08 November 2022 The Fifth Season Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Anthony Biaanco

Copyright © | Year Posted 2022

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