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Wednesday, August 08, 2007

Is summer winning, really ?

She comes breaking through the ice
Smothering the earth with her brilliance
Loving it back to life again
Softening the cold hearth

Even the clouds want in
melting in her warmth
raining down
on fresh delicate beginnings

Puddles are born
and then they die
where they go
they return as ice

And the sun spends endless hours
up there in the sky
so busy, ignoring
the heat waves

soon the call of the South
pulls down the sun
days grow shorter
and winter comes.


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