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  October's Child



Yesterday's ghosts began to howl thru prickly pines,
As whimpering winds swooped to kiss withering vines
I knelt to the ground to pick a few things needed,
A bouquet of flowered weeds with a few things seeded

Where the roses had faded along the rickety old gate,
A few wasps were swarming in a frenzied state…
Decay now framed what used to be,
While shadows walked about, weaving bits of debris…

A blanket of loneliness covered this musty old place
This stamp like corner framed in shades of grace…
A sheet of ghosts now reside here I'm told
And snuggle in teapots wrapped in black leaf mold

I've bought this old house made of pin-striped pines,
Where winds no longer whimper among the withering vines
I still pick things because something more is needed,
To pour from a teapot of things bottled and reseeded

The house and I are sleeping at the end of the drive,
And yesteryear's crepe myrtle will start to revive,
Drop by some evening where the weeds grow high,
And lightning bugs hang lanterns across a blackberry sky

July 24, 2016


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