salad days

my summer of discontent

was a series of salad days

better judgement left green

on the vine never to ripen

now has come autumn

and with it burning leaves

world winding down to

winter’s embrace of death

would that naivete could

blaze along with the foliage

smudging the air with dusky

scents and smoke screens

will ice lock up summer’s anger

freezing its bitter life away

’tis a consumation devoutly wished

although i do like salad


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