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Late Summer iii

by Kristina Woodhill

iii.
that page in the calendar's
roll call
that sets the aging Year
pondering,
recalling toddler and teen months
with satisfied pleasure,
those where birthing and sprouting
abound, spilling over into every
corner of probing, budding curiosity,
myriad colors of a prismatic existence
encouraging a lush green background;
each new fawn nuzzled to find its stance;
where skies weep for the joy
of filling ancient weather-worn
water holes;
how day and night,
sizzling heat and headstrong cold
weave and dance,
modulate and moderate,
making love in the relief
of dusk and dawn;
and now,
as September calls out
to October's leaf-stripping passage,
who relays its cues
to November's rambunctious
storm drains,
December dreams up
its distracting, dainty ornaments
while our faltering Year
tries to peer beyond
its Gang of Twelve
to the other side,
where a blank wall
and a dangling nail
quietly await

09/22/2018

Posted on 09/22/2018
Copyright © 2018 Kristina Woodhill

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Rob Littler on 09/23/18 at 10:03 AM

Let me be the first to buy you a new calendar with an Indian Summer theme.

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