Fallow 295

The sun is shining
With a brightness to the sky
A chill in the air

I am still working
Catching up after the storm
A week truly worked

But what of small talk
On days possessing such calm?
I step to the beat

My love gathering
A storm of her own design
To not miss next pass

I sit in crosshairs
Rolling eyes, per usual
And drinking my tea

Mixing malaphors
A linguistic carelessness
Mark of The Bard's Tongue

An accustomed thread
Did some hope I would lose it?
For "lose it" I did (Tongue not mine to lose)

But the thread remains
Indelible, holding strong
Strung right through the storm

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