NEXT YEAR

It was a day without sun.

A full thickness of gun metal clouds

separated fallowed fields from heaven.

In longtime past, the ground was harvest

strong; abundant colors of growth,

the standard of success.

Watered words promised planting.  The

seeds are long forgotten and folded away.

The weather changes out.  Sometimes late,

never early.  Next year hope holds the seeds

to bring the bounty back.

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