Post by anirbas on May 10, 2008 18:03:20 GMT -6
The pliant, lime hued seed pods, of the mimosa
have turned brittle brown;
rattling drily when the wind blows,
in it's otherwise,
jungle green crown.
A few leaves, kissed with warm, pinky gold,
peek from the profusion of greenery,
of the pistache sapling.
Emerald grasses not mantled in shadow,
bleach to shades of grey and beige.
Blanched, by the relentless
lemonade bright, afternoon sun
of mid-August.
The loud buzz and clack of locusts,
is an invisible, raucous cacophony;
a literal auditory assualt,
accompanying the merciless
humidity of late summer,
with a wall of sound.
But spreading slowly,
in the changing of the color tints,
across my front lawn,
is the hint of Autumn;
and it's cooler relief to come.
have turned brittle brown;
rattling drily when the wind blows,
in it's otherwise,
jungle green crown.
A few leaves, kissed with warm, pinky gold,
peek from the profusion of greenery,
of the pistache sapling.
Emerald grasses not mantled in shadow,
bleach to shades of grey and beige.
Blanched, by the relentless
lemonade bright, afternoon sun
of mid-August.
The loud buzz and clack of locusts,
is an invisible, raucous cacophony;
a literal auditory assualt,
accompanying the merciless
humidity of late summer,
with a wall of sound.
But spreading slowly,
in the changing of the color tints,
across my front lawn,
is the hint of Autumn;
and it's cooler relief to come.
