End of November
The grass is dull brown
the ground rocky hard
From fair visions of Springtime
has sprung a graveyard
Clumps of leaves rest in puddles
in murky pools on sidewalks
Caught in cracks of chipped pavement
no way to turn the clock back
To halcyon days when the earth was alive
~ Nor plunged in darkness at quarter to five
Copyright © Gershon Wolf | Year Posted 2020
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