In the cool, late Fall,|
just before noon,
they glimpse a full silver moon.
There’s tea prior to last breakfast call.
In the thick, brown heat
alight black flies
‘round desperate, vacant eyes;
if but the custard moon they could eat.
Joseph I. Middlesworth
(As published in “Vignettes in Verse”, 2000; and “The Easterner” Magazine, 2004)
© 2019 ishmael
(All rights reserved)