In Summer

In summer the heart is
a cauldron of desire
but on days like these
the grey leaves dissolve
into the low sky
and hopes turn to fears.

 

Nature is no more
constant than our plans.
Why must they rise and fall
like waves and die away
to nothing like the wind?

 

Julian O’Dea

 

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2 responses to this post.

  1. Posted by fuzziewuzziebear on June 14, 2018 at 12:26 am

    I can never get used to the concept that our seasons are opposite. I would send you some of our warm weather if I could.

    Reply

  2. I like this poem, especially the last 3 lines.

    Reply

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