Wordle #189


Brenda Warren

The breeze harvests and scatters.

Contours gather in the periphery,

Summaries and juxtapositions,

Entire colonies of angular limbs

Partitioning and prevaricating,

An insolent and imbecilic palate

Trellised but insurmountable

And I on the ground looking up.


My bent gaze perforates the splendor

Of a seldom populated dimension

These parsimonious shadows

That move without so much as a rattle,

The able-bodied dusk weeps

Secular and sanctimonious

My nose extends plainly

From my illogical face

And I just might be a scarecrow.


I love when the shadows are gathering and the sun is low but bright, it is the best time to talk a walk