Poetry

No Prediction

I saw a wooly worm today
Not the correct term
but that’s what they were
growing up
You know the ones
Orange and black
and the color
of their back
is some exact
portend of
the coming winter
He was mostly orange
Heading east
at least for a moment
then screeched to a halt
and turned north
Was he going back
for his overcoat?
He didn’t say
It’s better that way –
not knowing what may come

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