a brisk breeze brushes off sultry summer from my skin
through graveyard grasses it stirs to a tempest
old bones confined to rest listen for the last trumpet
brown butterflies fling themselves like tumbleweed
half torn from its moorings, a spider’s flag, filigreed
– in intermittent lulls we re-compose – in opposition
Taking up the Ragtag daily challenge of Wind with a cherita style poetry form
PoetryPix 