In spring they make

small splashes through the slush

and hopeful puddles.

In summer they slip

softly over warm grass

and rejoicing earth.

In autumn they bump

through skeletons of summer leaves

and frenzied wind.

In winter they leave

rounded swirls in pure snow

and frozen dirt.

Garbage cans.

– Savannah Liston


  1. I must say… this is… an epic poem. *cough* Have I ever mentioned that you make me laugh?!

  2. Haha…I’m honored that my poem has now been ushered into the realm of “epic”! ๐Ÿ™‚ I’m glad that I made you laugh…it makes me happy too ๐Ÿ™‚

  3. Haha! I like the poem, Savannah!!! I was really starting to wonder what it was so I quickly read to the last line. I would never have guessed. ๐Ÿ™‚

  4. I reelly like this! I never really think of garbage cans that way:) Very creative.

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