Morning Poem #2, January 23, 2017

On the hill the red brick houses stand amid the morning mist as if floating

The white clouds thicken in the valley below

The river has drawn the fog like the first warmth draws the dew

And, seen from above, its tortuous course through the valley is a white snake

Silent and sleeping

Wisps creep up the mountainside through the bare forest

Through the black branches of winter

In the streets of the town no one moves

I wait for the school bell and then the chimes of the churches

To assure me that time is still moving and that the day is passing.


copyright 2017

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