Dew on a leaf…
What is your relief?
‘I will pray for you.’
But what good would that do?
The summer’s sun refuses to go.
And, the winds call, no warm embrace, from winter or fall.
Crowds will shutter from twilight.
They offer no answer for those in dire straights.
There lies a cancer to nature’s call.
On bended knee…
before, morning’s stroll.
I reach for my sordid sandal…
Do I kneel per chance?
Or, simply be struck by foolish luck…in this the last dance?