A poem should not mean. But be.—Archibald MacLeish, "Ars Poetica"



Oh! How I wish it was summer, but it's not, so I shall picture in my mind's eye a moment in summer as I observe a curtain of ice fog paint over my window.

You can find the prompt over at One Single Impression and join in by writing a poem about summer. Here is mine:

Branches drape, fanning

through a wall of humid air

blades stretch--bend in the breeze.