The Stony Shore

i visit the stony shore
where the daisies are
like little crowned kings
standing in the mud
left soft and rank
by summer floods; 
not unlike they
i’m watching the seasons sway:
summer’s gone pink
and headed west
with autumn on its heels,
soon the river will be frozen
and their kingdom made of ice,
but the lords of the shore
show little concern,
possessing patience i have yet to learn.

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