In three weeks we’ll say goodbye to spring. I’d like to savor the coolness before the heat moves in. Three new poems in the name of Spring:
The wind waves the leaves
rustling boughs above the street
wrestling the giant.
Red tulips are gone
purple iris in their stead
peonies so soon…
That’s my essence of spring. How do you mark the changing of the seasons?
Gracias for reading Fake Flamenco, clicking Like and commenting! ¡Olé! –Rebecca