06-12-2013, 04:07 PM
Round wooden barrel with a fifth of rain water, still.
Gravel litters the space below, Not a bit of grass has grown.
To the left, pine it must be, a home built with time
Oaks and fellow maples cast a shadow around the small abode.
The birds fly through the sky singing a melody quite known,
Heat is compounding over surfaces as if seen by the eye.
It must be ninety, very well could be the day the ground is
broken only if the wind will blow.
Gravel litters the space below, Not a bit of grass has grown.
To the left, pine it must be, a home built with time
Oaks and fellow maples cast a shadow around the small abode.
The birds fly through the sky singing a melody quite known,
Heat is compounding over surfaces as if seen by the eye.
It must be ninety, very well could be the day the ground is
broken only if the wind will blow.