June loves a dog,
we all can guess why,
the last days of Spring before Summer.

Gray’s the new Grey,
X the new Y,
and Fall still awakens the wonder.

And April is gone,
in the blink of an eye.
A past moves along with a simper.

We’re out here, again,
out near the end,
the last rays of days in December.

It’s out with the old,
and in with the new.
In flashes the ashes surpasses its tenor.

From that which once was,
new names engender
poetic devices – a snowclone suffices –

in prose, like the rose,
or Bright Star, above,
Keats will entreat the courtier must love.

One loves a new name,
it generates fame;
for awhile it’s in style
and it breathes.

As metaphors show
and snowclones will go,
X is now Y, for awhile and then leaves.

©2016, Marvin L Welborn
23 April 2016

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