Cicada Dreams

Bashing free-verse into shape.

The dead leave their rest where I left them
Grandfather moves from bed's table-side
To drink from the kitchen sink, water's hum
Drips with the drizzling rain out-side
He squints out the window, soon griping
The low flying ivy's overgrown,
With the moss o'er garden pavers, showing
Little care—How much time has flown!

Grandmother walks out of the kitchen,
Stands from cracked tile to rocking chair
Purses her lips bright colors knitting
Into the sunbeams fair.

I walk the garden's forest dreaming,
Dried tulip leaves foretell future's themes.
Soon too will my body dream dusty~
Cicada dreams.

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Learn to poet.