a breeze blows 
across the front
porch of the heart —
the song settles
like an old dog
circling until
it’s just right
the sadness hangs
like the ferns
we will put up
once it gets warmer
the last aromas
of dinner have
followed us out
and will find
their way into
the darkness once
we go in to sleep
but not just yet . . .
there’s still
another verse
to sing another
star to fall
not just yet . . .
Peace,
Milton
Love this — feel like there’s a song hidden in there… Blessings Milton!
I have a daily poetry club to which I send a new poem every day. This one just went on the list – as other of your poems have done in the past.