This pumpkin strives.
She climbs. She
grapples. Her fruit, more apple
green than the accustomed
pumpkin’s burnt
orange, peeks between
limbs spread wide, not to yawn
but to fly.
Why strive? Why climb, when
the lure of earth sits there so sure
below, its nurturing brown-black,
rumbling with need?
The see-through air dares
her with its sweet, and her cares
are precious but they’re
also very patient.
4 comments:
perfectly captures the thing along with its poetic essence.
I love it. Just wandered over ot your website ...it's lovely.
I am reading this over and again...loving it and discovering more each time. :)
Thanks all... I'm trying to focus on quality over quantity in the new year :)
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