Those avenues nearby doing their thing,
showing all in orgiastic bleakness,
which in too little time will be licked-up
and swallowed richly into our winter.
It's the people, the dogs, the birds steal scenes,
though we marvel at stained sky between twigs.
in Breughel's Hunters. But we are inured
by then. Now is the shock, the EpiPen.
Ah, trees by rail-line are yet clothed in shades,
communicate digital silhouettes
as you drive out to work: 'Don't desert me!'
These birches yet hold shivering fragments.
Cloaked in your tears, the almost forsaken,
while you absorb stark messages of arms.
..........................
*That's Autumn for you.
YOU ARE READING
Winter Trails
PoetryWinter Trails is an album of my poems, journeying through late fall when the wire of the trees begins to dominate, till the end of January. After promoting it and it soaring to three quarter million reads, Wattpad unceremoniously dumped it. Here it...
