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.
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário