Cleopatra rolled up in a rug
smuggled in to see Caesar
worming her way into infamy
Every day the light is changing
Slyly summer transforms
little by little into autumn
such small moves
we hardly even notice the fall
I realize it’s not quite the right time of year for this poem, but my copy-paste-repeat diligence from my Medium archive knows no boundaries and doesn’t care about the calendar! So here you go: musings on September in April. Thank you for reading!
The Poetry Patio 