Pot of Gold
Pot
of Gold
by
Kevin Cahill
This
morning felt like winter.
A cold wind bringing down tree limbs
A thick mantle of grey clouds.
But later, brilliant patches of blue.
Then sudden gentle showers -
October has many minds-
As the sun descends
it leaves a splashy rainbow for an encore.
Tomorrow I'll content myself
with golden leavings on the frost-kissed grass.
I'll kick at them and think,
It must be here...the end I mean.
A cold wind bringing down tree limbs
A thick mantle of grey clouds.
But later, brilliant patches of blue.
Then sudden gentle showers -
October has many minds-
As the sun descends
it leaves a splashy rainbow for an encore.
Tomorrow I'll content myself
with golden leavings on the frost-kissed grass.
I'll kick at them and think,
It must be here...the end I mean.
October,
2007
posted by K at 9:09 AM
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