Backyard Skeleton
Late autumn’s wind
screeches like a banshee
and the sky is an angry ashen gray.
Our old tree -
stooped over and skeletal -
seems to convulse violently
as if in shocking fright
as its leafless limbs
eerily scrape the side
of our house
nearest to our bedroom,
tap – tap- tapping fiercely
against our window pane.
The wind recedes
and snow begins to drift down
from pewter-painted clouds.
The skeleton in our backyard
turns slowly through the night
into a grim reaper
wearing a robe of white.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
