Cold Day
Listen to poem:
Thistle down and mist
shrouded a valley
a chill November dusk --
a moon loomed over,
everything in halos
of pale, cold light:
no Indian Summer this...
Late geese flew, high up;
damp leaves burned slow
in an orange fire
whose smoke wraithed
straight up, in a column,
to the sky.
Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011
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