A changing season
makes its way
like biting and surprising treason,

as it blooms
toward hot sun arc
peaking near as high as heaven,
up from wet and cold and dark
that chills the bone
with fierce wind blown
to downright freezing.

Takes more
than just a simple shift
from black to white
or white to black
to manage it,

since linger
teeming colors in phase of flicker
along with legion shades of gray,
in the wavering segue,

not so steady
as the more frequent
trusty fade
from day to night
or night to day.

This entry was posted in Medium Length Poems, Poetry, Seasons, Spring, Summer, Uncategorized, Winter and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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