image from here
Moth whispers brush the bedside lamp.
Summer’s here, with nightly fear
of fluttering, biting, stinging things.
Tossing, turning, sweating, burning
from daily overdose of sun.
Moth-wings tapping at lighted windows,
starlit nights with yearning filled.
Through winter’s dark she’d longed for summer,
sleeveless frocks and sun-browned limbs.
Freedom, lightness, like the moth-wings
flicker in untroubled youth.
Crept October soon upon her,
dreaming of love by frosty sky.
Autumn chill, moth-wings still.
dVerse Poetics prompt today is all about the dog days of summer. Seasons are a common theme in my poetry, and I’m running out of new ideas. This one, a quasi sonnet, is at least six years old!