First Frost
The years first frost is in the air,
its silver breath lies everywhere
casts beauty over the mundane
though death comes creeping in it's name
The dark garden
is fired with frost,
burning summers memorials
to the ground,
a graveyard springboard.
Relics lie spread
over the soil,
death with purpose
in the night air.
Soon to feed
the cannibal seed
grows from deep
into new reap,
capsules of the
fresh green Spring,
lifting joy
on new year’s wing.
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