High Summer

grass high and dry and
seeded as wheat
tips too close for focus
belly on the blanket beside it

a bowl of blueberries,
almost gone

the rain pretends to come
but no one cares
not even the cat

written july 31 — lughnasadh — feast of the grain harvest

Author: Frances Donovan

I like poetry, long walks on the beach, and net neutrality. Tending the Garden of Words (www.gardenofwords.com) since 1998.

5 thoughts on “High Summer”

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