Today sitting sweating in a check shirt,
one dandelion still shining, one to come
(one formidable weed indeed it is).The last third of September, just August with a swelling bump,
or staggering on with a sloshing paunch, a jug of fruit punch.Oh, stroll towards an Indian summer if you will,
I think we'd like to lap it up a lot.Those are the years that get religion:
they carry a myth of eternity right to the sand-clocked
very drop of hieroglyphed leaves.Hectic benisons scattered over cars at stoplights -
one stuck to the wiper like a notice of prosecution.
YOU ARE READING
Under The Wings
Poetry.Under the Wings of the Egyptian and world-wide respected Goddess, Isis. Poems of Nature, Inner Resonance and Mythology.