BlOgStEr

As the wind does blow

Across the trees, I see the

Buds blooming in May

I walk across sand

And find myself blistering

In the hot, hot heat

Falling to the ground,

I watch a leaf settle down

In a bed of brown.

Its cold-and I wait

For someone to shelter me

And take me from here.

I hear crackling

Crunch, of today’s new found

And know it won last

So I will leave it

At bay; and hope for the best

This bitter new day