Seasons come and go
into labyrinths they flow…
One man’s Spring
Summer’s first fruit eaten
The rest may go rotten…
During Autumn we harvest
grain and grapes…
Winter, Gaia lays fallow:
She rests and hibernates.
With men it’s different:
Ragnarök is our winter fate
Battle never won by Gods or men.
Tonight, I invite you to contribute your own 55-word poem.
Yes, that’s the only rule: The poem (not including the title) should have 55 words, no more, no less.
It’s not required, but if you wanted use a metrical or rhyming framework to the poem – to differentiate it from 55-word prose – it would be amazing.
And folks, let’s link to the G-man and other 55-word groups, and help bring together communities meant to encourage a love affair with writing.
This is also submitted to G-Man’s 55 where the prompt is to write in exactly 55 words.