Summer Fading

Summer Fading

 

I don't need the famous poet

I need the one sitting under

the shade tree on the mountain

that never lets anyone read her verse

who wipes her hands on her apron

and dries her tears the same way

Perhaps one day I'll approach her

and ask about what she writes

Or maybe I'll just suppose it

until she passes

And if I pass first

perhaps she'll suppose

and we'll both know

we always wondered

about each other

 

(c) mB

 

In memory of poet Leonard Tate of Beersheba Springs, Tennessee

Done