Fall is turning the ground golden and rustic but winter will blow in the covering of white
I watched the horizon the artic line,
trying to define the mood of season.
Snow-blown relics on artic expeditions,
frost-bitten, snow blind the rolling
gray clouds masking the
blinded winter’s black madness.
I watch as fall tumbles from its pedestal.
Chilling nakedness lurks on the tree
The distant horizon is inhospitable as
a bedfellow with constant pain.
I am soundless and motionless in
this moment of frozen monochrome.
I pull my collar tighter to block the
Copyright © Peggy Bertrand | Year Posted 2007
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment