Those bright-white buttons in green grass
that remind you of a clown’s shirt
and the way everyone laughs at his sadness
except an old poet in the back row
who swallows hard and says
that’s fall for you
and that kid in the long yellow bus
on his way to love and loss and the moon
And when the neighbor told me he’d scattered some grass seed where the previous owner’s old dog loved to sprawl, I thought of my great-grandmother’s quilt, and how it covers us all.
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Categories: New Poems & Pieces
Tags: An Unknown Poet, Fall, Mushrooms, My Great-Grandmother's Quilt, Poems, Poetry
