2011-47

The clouds hang heavy
tonight, half-obscuring the
moon's full face, while
hawk moths hide,
unconsoled, among
sulking four-o-clocks.

Even the crickets sing
a little slower, a little
sadder, lamenting the
lingering death of
summer.



Poetry by Minhocao
Read 585 times
Written on 2011-09-16 at 14:39

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countryfog
You wrote my thoughts when I woke up at 3:00 AM, unable to sleep, hearing the crickets in the pine trees and thinking they sounded different, more a brittle and tired sound than a sensuous love song, shuddering perhaps in the cold night air, as I did. As perhaps you did.
2011-09-16