Cold Autumn Motionless
In the soak of the rain
Church bells chime
and the lichen covers gravestones
There is not much change in the touch of needle
Silence falls between the leaves
belonging to the netherworld
of coldness cussing down winding roads
like false hope aching to the core
of lose faltering teasing your skin
Lodgements if only we could
Copyright © Antony Glaser | Year Posted 2022
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