Thoughts At Summer's End Poem by Val Morehouse
Thoughts At Summer's End
Poetry, words
too quickly come
to fruit, that
head out too near
the ground;
good for nothing
some might say,
a useless expense
in lean years,
burnt of stalk,
miniscule grain, but
still the dreamers will
gather among the golden husks
and the women glean
their winter bouquets.
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4/26/2024 3:09:16 PM # 1.0.0.1119
