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I May Never Be A Writer

A Poem From The Archives Of My Computer While My Brain Warms Up

7/29/2016

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Matters Of Time

Autumn came banging on the door.

Summer seemed surprised
By the interruption.
She'd known her time was near
But was still unprepared.
She wasn't ready to relinquish,
Her warmth,
Her colour
Her light.
She had brought these pleasures
to many
And had been rewarded with love.
Her season was too short'
Couldn't she just share
What she still had to offer
With Autumn?
Autumn's firm refusal stung.
She searched for consolation,
Then remembered
Autumn's heritor was harsh...
Winter awaited to clutch the baton
With icy fingers.
Meagre solace.
But...
When the time came
Summer would return.
She'd once again bring her blessings
Of warmth
And colour
And light.
Until then...
She would rest
And think
And dream.

                                                                            ©Anne Macdonald


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    Author

    Well, as the title says, I may never be a writer, but who knows what my brain holds. I'll just let it seep out onto this page now and then. It's a bit of a scary thought.

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  • Art Of Ordinary
  • Zinanigans- Photos by Zinny
  • Just Some Random Stuff
  • Praisefully Yours
  • I May Never Be A Writer
  • Photo Gallery
  • About