Winter your menu
Is short and limited
Frosty crispy mornings
With diamond seeded dew
Over gardens
Or wet foggy ones
Erasing all but intimate surroundings
Followed by a short succession
Of ackward hours with thin light
And no warmth whatsoever
Leaving one's heart
An empty severe chamber
Void of any echo of your voice
Wandering in the mindless vacuum
Of ever grinding labyrinthine tasks
You've done your work
It's time to go!
Lucette C. Bailliet
All rights reserved
No comments:
Post a Comment