Punkinspring, and you plant your seed. Rains taper, and you watch carefully during those first eight weeks. As my flower blossomed, your seed nurtured in my fertile womb, you fled. Ran through the thick iron gates that protected my garden, left them ajarPunkin
and summer nudged its way in, left me parched and exposed in its unforgiving light. Though by August the days became cooler, and left me exhausted. Just a skeletal frame now; bearing boldly the fruit of your plunder, my soul.
Come autumn &
cool
much appreciated. really.
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