Over Ripe

by on October 12, 2016 :: 0 comments

Lane choked
with overgrowth.

A slight breeze
stirs a verdant sea
of cocksfoot and fescue.

Feathered ferns unfurl
In hues of green and rust.

Late summer
hangs on tangled threads,
promises and regrets.

Burgeoning deflated,
harvest weeks away.

Air heavy,
humidity clawing
at damp clothes.

autumn waits,
a promise on bated breath.

editors note:

And we are now fruit, eager to be picked and refrigerated. Cool, come cool! (We welcome Dave to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission; read more of his madness on his new page – check it out!) – mh clay

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