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© Grathy
Excerpts from some of my work on Medium.com
https://marymcgrath-81047.medium.com

THE SHORELINE
The fingers of the water
Reach and  pull
Toward the sand,
Its quiet mood
Reflected from the
Cobalt skies above.

The wet hands
Have no motive,
Just a purpose
To quench the thirsty banks
Of the beach, 
Dampening it’s parched soil
And then retreating
To do it
All over again.


THE FOG
Thick gray outside,
What time is it?
It could be morning,
Late afternoon
Or evening…

The misty face of the fog
Gives away no secrets,
As it hovers
And shivers against itself

You cannot understand
Its moods,
Why it comes and goes,

Because it makes its own decisions
As it creeps along the shoreline,
Like a thick cobweb,
Catching everything
With its damp fist.

The leaves are crying
As their tears
Slowly drip onto the lawn,

The earth cloud has done its job,
A quiet watering,
Until the day opens its curtains
And the sun peers in.



UNFALLEN LEAVES
The dry leaves cackle
At the crispy air,
No not today,
You will not blow me away
From my taut branches.

I have survived winter’s breath,
It’s icy frost and still chill 

And now even in summer‘s sweat,
With its wet winds
That howl and rake cross the pond,

You can try
But it’s not my time…

No not today,

THE OLD BARN
The barn,
So whittled by the wind,
Its hinges creaking,
The whine of its joints
Aching for a reprieve.

A fresh coat of paint
Seems to make a difference,
But the cracks in the wood
Are still there,
Evidence of seasons past
And storms won and lost.

Still, it stands.