Strangled by frost’s fists,
your cells surrender.
Cytoplasm spills from pores
hard-pressed by mercury’s plunge.
It is time.
Time to beat a hasty retreat,
seal off summer’s silhouette
and lay up treasures
for seasons to come.
Capitulation, not abandonment;
acquiescence, not succumbing.
After your pupal pause,
Sun caresses your dead skin;
you will
rise again.
Meanwhile, Melody Muses... 
Ooh, evocative.
An ooh AND a big word! Yippee! 🙂 (Thanks, Rob!)
Here to serve. It’s just the kinda guy I am.
And humble, too! How can you contain all that glory? 😀
To speak of it again would be counter intuitive, an embedded irony of humility itself. Hence, I say nothing further other…well, except for the previous. Humbly yours, Robert Alan Rife, BA, MA, BS.
I will take that in the most non-counter-intuitive way I can… in the only way possible coming from one who uses the addendum of BS. 😀
Then it’s settled. I bid thee a good day, Ms. Lowes.
And I thee! 🙂
Thankth.
WOW! You must have been a science whiz too, eh?
Um – no. Just overhearing my kids studying Biology… *giggle*
Sent from my iPad
Loved the ending , Melody! Thank you!
Great! You’re very welcome!