Beetle Tea
by Holly Tucker
Roll low, soft stones, trundle brushed colors.
Cloak a hummock throne round a gargling crower.
Mull over heavy fruit in foggy groves
As dewey pools sweeten buried troves.
Roll by, soft stones, send sprays to windowsills.
Send tree faces; Picassos, Raphaels, over the hills.
Leave bare veins, and sweet sap within, to stand still.
Wildly flatter Mother Nature's will.
Roll on, soft stones, spread bewildered view,
This bleary mist, this autumn we fall into.
Sullied, to dwell, by fire's trial true.
Shake out the old, shake out the new.
About the author:
40-something life long closet poet.
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