With seeds sown in March
and tendrils growing inward
this summer cold has taken hold
and begins to emerge.
It has settled roots
within my belly, writhing --
it reaches for the sun
a burgeoning bud.
Christmas will be the time of blossom,
the dropping of seed, a bloom of need
until then, I will
dry the teary eyes of this summer cold.
Poetry
beautiful!
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