Season Woven In Grief
Persuaded by time,
and clothed in rust, trees reveal
a changed homecoming...
The illusions of my youth
drift away with falling leaves
My eyes search for him,
although my heart knows better
Old fences need paint,
Scabs of white shed like feathers
from the dry and weathered rails
There, by the back door
his old plaid jacket is hanging,
waiting to be worn...
It holds scent of burning leaves...
A tear smolders on the sleeve
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For the Grief Contest:
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013
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