Life Personifying

 



The solstice in the window
was invisible again;
the grass was always greener,
yet the leaves had come to end.

The water came to flowing
in a sedentary way,
pausing for the silences
of just another day.

The moon had found a rhythm,
and it’s something of a dance;
in cycles of a ballroom
when the music’s just a trance.

The pavement wrote a memoir,
when the dust had signed its name,
and other than the quiet,
it was more or less, the same.