Lilacs at the last smell like death.
A slight savor of decay
haunts the brown blossoms.
The taint of fruity rottenness
foretells the coming of summer.
The apple blossoms blow away.
Summer will burnish the fruit
'till thunderstorms knock it down.
Tipsy wasps totter
in August's fallen apples.
Bury me in that warm country.
Poetry Poem New Orleans Katrina
Lilacs at the last smell like death.
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1 comment:
Wow, this one is fantastic. I can smell it, that is how bold your words choices are in this.
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