Summer's lease fades in season's final days of warm March winds and mad insect ways.
Dry earth paints parched image to eye lens- sending light spiral form to thought ahead of time.
Where is the rhythm to the rhyme? Hear the bells chyme when season's in the world is round and all is fine. Drop the weary load and run. The sun is up the battle's won- it's time for life and fun.
Last Edit: Mar 27, 2019 15:54:53 GMT 9.5 by fjrogers
Distant peaks emerge....clear as day. The hermit's lantern turns to guide the way. Hermit's Way - F. J. Rogers
