An Awe Gust Story --(August)
What we hear is what we believe.
I was told I was Miss Chievous
And that was the name I always used.
Proud of the Miss and never noticed the
Insinuation.
The wind blows a storm in off the ocean
Warm air mixed with Mountain breezes
This is Awe Gust
Lost between summer and fall
Not declaring himself,
Always amazed by
Sun kissed flowers,
The odd tree leaves holding
Onto Green except for the tips
Of red,
A sneeze would let them go,
Like Gust’ nose
Borracho with wonder
Ageless, pressed between
Old and new,
Awe Gust
Waits
For his mate
Sept Tender
Another story.
Let me know your Awe-gust story. You can find me at http://www.abberolnick.com
