Is it always the summer,
And a certain mix of light,
Donated by the moon,
To captivate the night?
Isn’t it always the summer?
And accident of place?
You’re where you shouldn’t be-
And beauty’s in that face.
It’s the tyrant side of summer.
It swaddles you in heat.
It weakens words to whispers,
And shackles all retreat.
It is always the summer.
You are a child one day-
Then moon and heat and madness
Whisk innocence away.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment