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Monday, September 07, 2009


White fluffy clouds are fleeing far away,
preparing for their darker, darker day.
Last drips of summer trickle down my face;
the breezes taunt me like a sheerest lace.

I watch the flowers pack away their youth,
to save each memory of fiery hue.
Lest old regrets cloud bliss and happiness;
we celebrate the days we’ll always miss.

The sweetest honeyed murmurs swaddle me,
but words melt into laughs – then slowly cease.
Cicadas hum their final melody,
and autumn winds prepare to shake the trees.

I just have time to bid my mute adieu,
and swallow up the sky, so cobalt blue.

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A word is dead
When it is said,
Some say.

I say it just
Begins to live
That day.

- Emily Dickinson

Thanks, Wordle!