A poem I wrote this afternoon, but it needs work...still
The Fig Tree Change happen fast in May’s month When the old girl whose gnarled limbs Are places of play For possums and birds Scurrying over the guttering rim, Sheds her glorious garments of green Leaves for a temporary yellow Raiment that eventually stripteases down To the backyard floor. She whispers to me, Sitting in her shade, She scolds the chooks Scratching around her trunk toes She flutters yellow lids One by one At a small boy Who bats Fluttering leaves floating Towards the ground Until... Sign in to see full entry.