Last Of The Baby's - Breath Poem by Thomas Plotz

The tall Illinois prairies, is forced to relinquish
Summers bounty, now that October is here
The baby’s – breath, begins to shut their blooms,
Trying to live another day, by the soothsayer reader

As fall blows, with news from the seer, freeze warnings, appear, a
Killing frost is sneering,
On the horizon, fearing the
Killing frost, will consume the last bit of color,
Encapsulating all of the vulnerable knit, of landscape, with ice
Triumph with wit, the flowers, the bees, and the seeds
Slicing the moisture out, pulling it toward the hoarfrost

Then, as the sun rises, and thaws the plants
It will look like tears, falling at a funeral
Heads will hang low, with fear
For in October for me, it’s been a year
The flowers will start to shed its pedals
Slowly, being blown away
To finally find there last, habitational resting place,
Giving the ground a winter blanket, with hay stacked in the fields
Till only next year’s seeds remain,
Unless those too were consumed, or flew off to be sown
Upon this golden prairie, that will too soon, days and grass turn’s grey
 
For winter is upon us, the snap is in the air
The snap that changes, the mild temps, to
The harsh frigid blare

This is the time for winter
Time for Hot T,
Time for snuggling
Time for warm blankets, filled with love, and

Time for You with me

T. Plotz

Last of the Baby’s – Breath

OCT 17,2015