Lay Fallen
* * *
At Pheasant Farm a guest of Autumn yet an inch thick paints
a countryside in charcoals, stodgy reds, and umber browns
as temperatures slow drop and daylight shrinks to Summer's plaints
while darkling slants of light entomb the frozen lifeless downs
in spite of sighing protests soft by picotees and pinks
beneath a barren finger clacking sharp against a wind
benumbing barky toes each pinched by chilly pilliwinks
though loud in fury breathless beats a writhing cornstalk thinned
aslant a muddied brook dried up of wine to free extend
till sudden sleet impales old age to seize the Promised End.
* * *
to Shari
Copyright © James Starkey Iii | Year Posted 2023
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