Poemhead

A Summer’s Folly

Its not the wind in the trees or the buzz of bees, its the sound of a heart breaking

Its the weeping willow’s gentle sway that catches love being thrown away

Its the viper in the reeds and the wasps in the trees, that cause the painful stings

Crippled in this golden field bleeding out with no wound to be healed

This rotting husk laid on solid ground hoping it turns to dust never to be found

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