Done With Poetry
Golden light upon the shattered wood,
snow upon the worn stone steps.
A fragment of forgotten rose,
caught in the rusty hinge's bloom.
Grey leaves cling to winter's bone,
ethereal mist upon the river's spine.
Frost's pale kiss upon the flagstone.
Crisp silence broken by the wind's score.
I'll attend to the worn wooden gate!
Commencing the fragility of things,
Growing fragile with each fading ray.
Gnawing like the whisper of the wind's prosthetic wires.
Copyright © Beatrix Macabre | Year Posted 2024
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