Like a pre-teen girl,
hiding behind a fall of cornsilk hair,
the suggestion of a barn
emerges from behind a mask of corn --
its cupola a turtle's head
poking tentatively from its homely shell,
tickled or itched,
perhaps,
by that waving fringe,
or alerted by the quiet chatter of crisp leaves
gossiping together in the morning breeze --
or perhaps it is a periscope,
alert for any alien disturbance
among the waves of maize.
* * *
1 comment:
your scraps made me smile. its best said when simply said. cheers.
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