Triolets, In Passing
Elena Lee Johnson
The world walks too quickly
into another distance,
leaving us the same and sickly.
The world walks too quickly,
gliding smartly, slickly.
To spite our resistance—
the world walks too quickly
into another distance.
* * *
The summer orchestrates her last farewell,
full strings and percussion amongst the stems.
Through evening sun’s long golden spell,
the summer orchestrates her last farewell.
In frenetic play, barefoot children repel
the almost frost that seeps inside their hems.
The summer orchestrates her last farewell,
full strings and percussion amongst the stems.
* * *
A pond goes nowhere.
A river, though,
could wend anywhere!
A pond goes nowhere,
just a blank sky stare.
Rivers flow!
A pond goes nowhere.
A river, though…