Grand Junction, Co 12-3-18

. for public domain

We are well into December,
each birdbath crests a mound of snow,
new flakes creep down Winter's sky.
I draw a slow breath. The air bites cold.

Security lights illuminate
the lawn trees white crusted bare branches,
alleyways are free of traffic,
no steps lead to vagrant ranches.

On this three AM Monday morning,
time passes peaceful and fair.
Birds and transients will pipe with dawn,
enduring a cold day to bare.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2018

Poem

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