Wild Onion
Wild onion, the scent of which
tints the air, a late afternoon
prior to dusk and dinner
she must go in to cook soon.
Right now she enjoys the fragrance
of new mown lawns, honeybees
dancing directions, humming
a soft tune, hugging her knees
loosely with sun-warm elbows,
distracted by thoughts of shorelines
and vacations soon over.
The harvest looms, seasons decline
into winter work, slower action;
no more teasing scent of wild onion.
Joann Grisetti has been writing for 45 years. She is a retired teacher from Florida. She receives encouragement from her daughter and has recently enrolled in a creative writing workshop. She is a member of Poetry Soup. You can read more of her poetry there.
Thank you, Jack Horne, for the following comment--
ReplyDeletelovely write - this one took me back to walking my dogs in the woods
Thank you! Aah the dreaminess and beautitul painting in words. I can smell the smell of wild onions right now.
ReplyDeletebeautifully captured. summer days! so evocative. i enjoyed the read. best wishes, ralph.
ReplyDeleteLovely words giving one a feeling of peace within their own surroundings. Great reading...
ReplyDeleteRhoda Galgiani