Beginning Winter the End of Days
A bug flies through the guard petals of a wild rose before hot nights,
Then it passes away on a bridge between friends with more highlights.
Then it passes away on a bridge between friends with more highlights.
*There’s Wild Rose Gas Station here in Tehachapi, California. I get to thinking about this bug as though it’s in depression with bright colors infused with many sights. It took me eight months to make this poem, and the time spent is what counts at large. It’s fun to guess whether those “more highlights” refer to the bug’s friends or the bug’s disappearance. With this poem, I rhyme with four words rather than two within this couplet: “before”, “with more”, “nights”, “highlights”. Don’t let the simple writing fool you; I took many years of two colleges and one state university to get into the knowhow of languages in the first place. I like to think that every house speaks a language that’s unique somewhat, minus the imposters of fashion.
**Picture=Meister des Codex Manesse (Grundstockmaler) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
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