Poem: Which Season Is This?

Look at that quaking aspen

Dancing in the breezy sky.

Soon it’s leaves will turn gold

As the starry summer grows old.

Look up at that dark-eyed Junco

Singing among crisp blue mountains.

Soon he migrates to a new home

Into the cypress south biome.

Look at that human in flannel

Beholding the passing of time.

With no clear direction to go

Which season is this? No one knows.

Chad A. Damitz

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