Writing

Wordle 538

The silken thread was broken by a family of hungry honey seeking bees,

But all was not forsaken, the wind still blew between leaves.

As the dust swept up, a sign of winters approach,

She felt the leaving of summer with a reproach.

Still much to do and no time left on the clock,

She would have to hurry, there could be a shock,

Juggernaut trucks rattle down the road quick,

Pay them no mind; she had her own trick.

Winter, endured in her very special way,

A stack of books and a long sleep, make this black bear’s day.

Wordle 538

© NopeNotPam

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