sexta-feira, 2 de setembro de 2011

Summer swung me ...

Summer swung me in its branches,
dangled me irom its tip,
shaking me along with its leaves.
I cried while I jung there,
suspended in the air,
breathing in the smell of

fresh berries
wild fern
the river.

Summer paid me no mind,
only turned and twisted.

I fell into misery,
begging for the cold.

Little Woman

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