The green in the world, s burning
but no smoke.
The heat in the worlds ex-sterning,
but no snow.
The air can breath wind,
now that its moved away from steam.
The life cycle of plants ends,
along with spring.
Us human-beings grow second skins,
thermal, leather, and cotton are in.
Trees to flowers and flowers to trees,
as weather shifts naturally.
From sand to ground and grass to wheat,
as wind blows plant like fires through the streets.
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Comments about this poem (My Season by daryl widder )
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