As I look out at the scorched earth of a Southern summer,
Somnolent bees nuzzling thirsty petals in the lazy breeze,
I wipe the sweat from my brow, grateful for this season of life.
I am in my own summer, youth no longer at my beck and call.
I feel the whispers of fall, the promise of change,
Another chapter waiting to be lovingly written in broad strokes.
Age is a gift, one that I want to unwrap slowly and carefully,
Enjoying each and every precious moment.
6 thoughts on “The Scorched Earth”
A beautiful poem.
Thank you so much. ❤️
Welcome 😊😊 😊
Soothingly beautiful. ♥️
Beautiful visuals in your writing, Denise. Loved the message on aging, and I learned a new word to boot! Somnolent!
Thank you, Lynn! ❤️