You must know
the hot sun
that tingles the skin
at the very end of summer
Some people say
we have no seasons
but how wrong
Here they are
whispered gifts
for the faithful seer
the believer
The hot sun brushes
tickles like a feather
down my spine
enticing me to rest
But it's only a short visit
to this secluded temple
of faith
No comments:
Post a Comment