morning poem, November 12, 2015

.

The beeches and the maples are bare

But the cold wind rattles the leaves clinging to the oak

Like the bones of a skeleton, they are dry and brittle

And have no joy in either day or night.

.

They quiver now, oscillating

Like the dits and dahs of some rapid radio code

Bony fingers blown horizontal in the wind

Like children shivering, without coats or shoes.

.

Let go, leaves, let go.

 

Copyright 2015

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