Beneath a Streetlamp

The city streets are littered with sodden remnants of fall, a chilling wind moans low between brick walls; my vacant arms enfold my shivering form to shield a heart grown weary of the storm. There is a melancholy feeling to damp leaves upon the way as though some precious spirit has packed and moved away. The sidewalk's sheeted puddles reflect the faces that I love peering through the golden ramparts in God's city up above. I bend beneath the streetlamp where my face with theirs' will blend remembering us together the way it will be in the end. Copyright, November 12, 2014 Faye Lanham Gibson