It tried to blow is down but we stood the victor.

It tried to uproot us, carry us to Oz, but our will and roofs were iron,
and we kept our grips, waving but never drowning.

It tried to wet our determination but only whetted our appetites.

It tried to soften our stems, but our leaves were fed,
and we washed ourselves clean in the wake,
nothing more than an august kiss of autumn passing by.




Filed under Words

4 responses to “Petrichor

  1. Blaine Verley

    Good. Windy and wet. We’re getting the remnants here.

  2. gerald

    she looks like she is growing like a storm david…

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