Gold and Gray
a poem of September
Published in
1 min readSep 21, 2020
Sunflowers, but no sun,
Just low gray overhead —
The air half-mellow and half-chill.
The grass is tangled
In amongst the raindrops.
The swallows’ backs are slick
With darting in and out
While showers fall;
But the hawks sit rumpled,
High in a tree, and glum.
Meantime, the clover grows,
Drinking from the day.
The sunflowers dangle
Their gold tresses grassward
And wait the sun.
