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Click hereTomorrow has as much promise
As Nature whim. So though I see
How unlikely are you and me,
I've seen snowflakes kiss October's
Wet ground, and swim in pools of green
And orange leaves, on a night too
Dark, short, dying, and sweet smelling
To be anything but what is
A night, in a season between
The rainy dream of June and frost;
And which, with flakes from another
Sky crowned, was everything it could
Ever be. A night, like a love
That's loved between two breaths, that might
Kill, or prick, or tickle, or fade,
But which is more than any "might"
could be,
Being made of stuff as strange as
you and me.
Tomorrow - well written and quite clever - smiles Sweet O.