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This Kind of Humble Day

by Carol Rucks


As clouds drift toward us

and the last of the rain glistens

on the grass, I start to wonder

if we can we stay together.

Blue house, orange cat, rich

in lazy afternoons, we loll

barefoot on the back porch.

The wine going down

tastes like gold in our throats.

It's so easy here, the wind

bending the summer screens,

trees almost asleep

in their thick coats.

How long can it last,

or will we take it all

the way, luck out here

among the rose bushes,

the darkening ferns.