SHE SITS in the MUD

                                                             SHE SITS IN THE MUD
                                         She sits in the mud. In wet rain. Alone in her thoughts.

                                           Fall. Waiting and powerless.

                                             Dandelions in ragged grass waver. Shatter  cold.

                                           Quivering in rays of sun. Sun dying. Sun moaning.

                                             Dust of Gold. Murmurs  and whispers in stillness.

                                        Luxurious aurora fades. Away into eternity.

                                              Still Fall sits. Alone. In the mud. Silhouetted by rain.

                                             By the sog and bog. In trickles of light.

                                              Mute. Fall hums to herself. A song that is mistaken for the wind.

                                                           And she waits. With her mud tattered galoshes.

                                                       Wordless. She will stay. And hum.

                                                    Till winter sees her in that pool of dim light.

                                                 Forlorn. Humming. But not sad.

                                               Famished with time.

                                               And the world will hear her tuneless song.

                                                As she plops herself in the mud. Amid the Gold.

                                              A dust of time.

                                                     With winter nigh, she shall sleep. At last.

                                                  Covered with  rain and rotting leaves.

                                               Her humming will sing on.

                                                         While she dreams again.

                                              While she sits in the mud.

                                            SHE SITS IN THE MUD (original work 2015)
When I was a teenager, I must have written a poem a day. Wanted to take the world by storm with poetry. I'd forgotten how much fun it was to write a poem. To play with words....