With early morning wrapped around
my bleary senses, loosely wound
with cotton string, I gently pull
to free my brain from fluffs of wool,
these fragments of forgotten dreams
that cling to senses at the seams.
The house is chilled with summer's loss
and autumn creeps like bristled moss.
It breathes on windows, twisting through
the keyholes, coiling down the flue
to find that there's no fire there
to chase the crispness from the air.
The sky is billowed, pigeon gray,
as I wake up to face the day.
I sip my tea; it steams to steep
away the shreds of tufted sleep.
Without the summer's soft caress,
I shiver as I bathe and dress
to meet the brisk advance of fall
with gladness—
woolly dreams and all.
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which were so enjoyable to read…
Best wishes,
Diana…🍁
Ron
Regis. 🌳🌼🙏🍁