It's Still Life

We Always Said

After the summer had
turned fields of cut wheat
to brooms, and those little
gestures of rain beckoned

to winter, and as we sat
on the dry October lawn,
and said we’d always write
each other fond letters of

Dear dearest, and words
for wishing on falling stars,
after all that, I’m sleepless
and feeling the drift of dark,

and wondering why our
stars have all fallen apart.

Note: After reading other’s epistles, I see that I got this all wrong. I’ll try again later.

Written for Quickly Words: using winter/drifter/little and dVerse Verse Epistle and Twiglet #217 “All That Waste” and @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter   © Misky 2021