When the fig leaves fell, they were bright and deep beneath the tree.
Now their color has seeped into the ground, and the grass is growing up through me.
It’s a fine time. A rhyme time. A time like every other time I see.
No time. Flow time. Rain time. Snow time. Free.
.
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Categories: A Few More Scratches
Tags: Colors, Figs, Freedom, Grass, Leaves, Peace, Rain, Rhyme, Snow, Time, Winter
William Michaelian 