Grasses green in summer rain
all Leprechaun like, and Irish.
Embryonic, they uncurl from sleeping seeds
that escaped spring black birds'
ebony eyes, lain like children's
after-school strawberry snacks, secrets
not told at parents' tables.
Do these browning greens in golden sunlight
know their autumn days approach?
A time when falling colors swirl to lie
piled like slumber-party blankets
after girls abandon tussled beds
for outdoors' whiter winter games.
How these cycles twirl like Latin lovers,
their Tango twisting passions sideways glance
at this blue planet as it spins, a dance through
forgotten dreams and starlit sprinkled space.
Do these changes not entrance?
Here, I sleep, forget and wake again
to seductive songs of singing seasons
and hope to see so many more
before the rising tide of time
overtakes my final shore.