Literary Yard

Search for meaning

By: Michael Mogel

Summer time walks, any time of day.
Summer weather rain,
a place to stop and linger.
A place with metal roof,
the rhythm section’s tight.
They’ve played this tune before.
Now that we are here
don’t let it end too soon.
Don’t mind if I’m late for supper,
dreaming in a respectful gazebo.
So no one can be angry,
caught in a purple wet web.
Savoring time together,
throwing down this pen.
I’m in no mood to write,
and if the stars are with me
we’ll be trapped here all night.


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