Mornings I sit with my feet in the wet grass.
I watch the florets of the obedient plant climb the stem,
Translucent purple flowers popping out.
The black-eyed Susans are waning nearby
And the tomatoes, plump and golden-skinned
Need picking.
The insects and birds sound off
Oblivious to their own harmony.
Splotches of sunlight on the grass are harbingers
Of the sizzling day ahead.
No breezes today, but a blue sky.
Me, my feet in the wet grass.
No comments:
Post a Comment