morning poem, December 15, 2017

Brittle cold

The songbirds fold

The fields are silver

The forest old


Nothing bends

Not even wind

All quiet now

All gathered in


The frozen line

The naked vine

The empty lane

And icy shine.


Copyright 2017

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2 Responses to morning poem, December 15, 2017

  1. Marit says:

    Lovely poetry. Thanks for sharing 😊

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