this autumn morning
winter’s
aperitif
is
served on the rocks
shaken
and stirring
come
downpour now
unleash
your jotting scribe and
cast
the showery runes of fables untried
forge
scripts along our droughty lanes
of
songs for all that yet remain
or
wash away those pages brown,
whelm
witness to our temporal sway
we’ll
listen to the eager earth
as
she swallows every dripping word
of
this crisp & chilled September cleansing,
for
she has such a slumberous summer thirst
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