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Summer is a thirsty wench
by Mary Ellen SmithSummer is weary. A thirsty wench.
Dry from her parched hot breath
She looks to the sky for a cloud.
Beckoning thunderous thoughts
She unleashes her boredom
In flashing illumination.
Selfishly, she keeps the drink.
Drying puddles up quickly,
she composes herself.
A few more weeks of languid days
And as many restless nights.
She steams the land with her iron will.
08/10/2003 Posted on 08/10/2003
Copyright © 2024 Mary Ellen Smith
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by JD Clay on 08/10/03 at 08:20 PM Sweltering poetry, Mary Ellen. Your dramatic piece makes my wanna head for the beach.
Peace... |
| Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 08/11/03 at 02:06 AM A bold analogy of summer as a hard and demanding woman. Quite alive with movement and character. |
| Posted by Charles E Minshall on 08/12/03 at 05:14 AM Hot poem Mar...Charlie |
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