Incongruity
In spring they make
small splashes through the slush
and hopeful puddles.
In summer they slip
softly over warm grass
and rejoicing earth.
In autumn they bump
through skeletons of summer leaves
and frenzied wind.
In winter they leave
rounded swirls in pure snow
and frozen dirt.
Garbage cans.
– Savannah Liston
I must say… this is… an epic poem. *cough* Have I ever mentioned that you make me laugh?!
Haha…I’m honored that my poem has now been ushered into the realm of “epic”! 🙂 I’m glad that I made you laugh…it makes me happy too 🙂
Haha! I like the poem, Savannah!!! I was really starting to wonder what it was so I quickly read to the last line. I would never have guessed. 🙂
I reelly like this! I never really think of garbage cans that way:) Very creative.