Season’s of Fury


Under the Sun,
Many summers
They do scurry;
Mice and rat’s
But Just not furry;
Fury under blisters
Of the sun
It’s no fun;

Winter’s tide
And Frosted winds,
No breath,
No scurrying About;
Not to blister
Into fury,
Under the sun
It’s no fun,

Spring back into
Time for traction,
Pull me apart ,
Put me together
Once again,
I scurry;
Under the sun
I become Blistered fury;
It’s no fun,

Fall and break
Into colored leaves
Once again,
The wind cool
Upon fair skin,
Clouds covering
A blanket of comfort
I fall into;
Dusk is near,
No more
Torturous Blistered fury
Under the sun
Halloween is near
Now it’s fun,

Dawn Piercy © 2015


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