poem
we talk of nature as such a spectacle
of green leaves and amber grain
and joy and poetic melancholy
but the wild world does not perform for us
it's dead branches twisting and reaching
over bare mulch and brown grass,
a weed through the cracks defiant
and a wrap of sticky silken longing
where something fanged waits to lash out
@typhlosion Same. Sorry to hear that.
i am having a bad day