A poem for these wet summer days…
Summer Lies
Splishy splashy sloshy days
wrung out, strung up, hung out to dry
on dismal damp summer lies.
Rotting strawberries, mounds of mould
beneath wet leaves. Bowed and broken
flower heads, hanging limp, all but dead.
Rolling, boiling, muddied stream
tumbling headlong in between
bulging banks, brim full. Bursting.
Squelching, belching, sodden fields
turned now to new wet worlds,
where sentinel trees stand stranded.
On the green, where party picnickers
should have been. The grass is flattened
churned to mud.
The carousel, draped in plastic,
hides fantastic flying horses, unicorns,
dinosaurs, now bedraggled, damp. Distorted.
Bright bunting slaps and smacks, hangs slack.
A river playing down our street,
a gurgling, dripping, drumming beat.
Again the rain, the waters rise.
Sandbag dams – front door reprise
of dismal drizzling summer lies.
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