04-01-2019, 07:23 PM
False Hope
Craggy beneath its winter wrap,
an eyesore on the snowy scape,
a citrus misplaced up north rises
above the budding bleeding hearts
waiting for the endless frost warnings
to cease.
The season will be just long enough
for Indian summer lemonade
and rind kissed tequila under cooling skies.
We leave a few to waste on the tree;
as each rotted lemon drops
and nestles among the acorns and pignuts
its scent perseveres
until woodsmoke overtakes it,
tricking our noses into believing
the long freeze is far off.
Craggy beneath its winter wrap,
an eyesore on the snowy scape,
a citrus misplaced up north rises
above the budding bleeding hearts
waiting for the endless frost warnings
to cease.
The season will be just long enough
for Indian summer lemonade
and rind kissed tequila under cooling skies.
We leave a few to waste on the tree;
as each rotted lemon drops
and nestles among the acorns and pignuts
its scent perseveres
until woodsmoke overtakes it,
tricking our noses into believing
the long freeze is far off.
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