Sunday, September 20, 2020

A Poem of September

Gold and Gray

Sunflowers, but no sun,

Just low gray overhead--

The air half-mellow and half-chill.

The grass is tangled

In amongst the raindrops.

The swallows’ backs are slick

With darting in and out

While showers fall;

But the hawks sit rumpled,

High in a tree, and glum.

Meantime, the clover grows,

Drinking from the day.

The sunflowers dangle 

Their gold tresses grassward 

And wait the sun.

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