Not all
falls are without grace
it’s not all black and white
the lush green
slowly ages
to perfection
and one day
we wake like the frog
in the pan on the stove
who only notices
he is cooked
too late to realize
summer has crossed
the line
and we cheer
the cool afternoons
brushed with color
aplenty
we plan weekend excursions
around watercolor scapes—
drive deep into their belly
and breathe the discolored air
crisp and thick
with ripe
and over weeks
all this too
will pass
all will slowly
lose grip
in a
last
dying
act
and gently
on streams of air
fall effortlessly
without a sound
to the ground
below
©2010 – Michael A. Wells – all rights reserved
12 comments:
... this is beautiful!
What a awesome way to fall!!
I truly love your poem :)
Beautiful magpie!
Love the contemplative vibe here.... Sort of a moving, swirl energy that reminds me of the wind.
Read my Magpie Leaves Sing...
I like how we wake like a frog in a pan on the stove! Great imagery.
"..and breathe the discolored air
crisp and thick.." My favourite line.
Michael this is beautiful! :-)
Who wants some frogs legs?
they taste like chicken
fabulous...love the ref to the frog in the pan...and the progression of the season that passes too quickly...nice mag.
"and we cheer the cool afternoons
brushed with color aplenty
" what a wonderful visual Michael and tis so true!
lovely word flow,
losing grips in a last dying act may be sad, but spring comes, life resumes after all of the falls...
cool style.
The first stanza leads us boldly into this wonderful read!
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