As I amble without an impulsion at night,
my course depends on sources of light
that lead me past, reign over my roam,
they shine from the lamps lit at mansions and homes
which glow a comforting golden amber to white
Its stem is arched in a drooping swoon,
around which shriveled leaves are strewn,
collapsing from callous care, perpetual thirst,
too weak for survival, too fragile to be nursed,
is the repercussion of the raging, summer noon
They are beautiful, intricate, a startling hue,
lingering between tedious shades, and a light, iris blue
It's a steadfast shadow of a friend, behind me it will trail,
against the backdrop of the snow- frosty and pale
as it disappears with the sun, I feel a twinge of rue
The grass is moist and gladdening beneath my feet
successfully drawing away all the heat
it's tipped with tears of fragrant dew
over on the side lays abandoned my shoes,
it coats my soles in a dampened sheet
As I plunge into the lemon yellow fruit,
on my taste buds, pangs of acidity shoot
At the innocent fruit, I glare and glower,
it smiles back demurely, so sweet but sour
Resentment of lemonade, I am now en route
Behind me, stealthily, begins to creep
the inevitable, but unwelcome, shackles of sleep,
with the rhythm of wheels grinding against the street
with the hum of pouring rain and glacial sleet
buried in a blissful drowse, I remain in and keep
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