Darkness Waits At the Edge of Death
(Loss of a brother, B Nov. 1933 - D Nov. 2012)
Dawn comes with a jolt,
the sun prancing above
forest’s bitten edge.
Yesterday’s shadows linger.
As in nature, so in life,
darkness waits.
Winter hesitates,
yet its sorrow is felt
in bone marrow’s thread.
November birth becomes
November death.
The ebb of life stoops,
irrespective of want,
and darkness comes.
Yet November spawns hope
as she turns the corner
toward the Nativity
and life without end.
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
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