Millard Lowe Poet Prose Poetry

Winter Time Grief

WINTER TIME GRIEF…


The long hot summer has disappeared over the horizon,
Yielding to the arrival of the cooling Fall.
Despite their approaching fate---the annual leaves’ excision,
the tower trees proudly stand firm and tall.

The steamy sticky sweaty nights have all gone
giving way to the cool ebony breeze;
horny crickets and frogs no longer sing their eerie mating song;
squirrels organize their cupboards in the hollows of the trees;
and mushrooms grow on the graves of the Fall’s fallen leaves.

In the early evens’ mist, sun of change ushered in the close of day
leaving flickering shadows hovering over time’s footprints.
Birds---angels of the sky, have spread their wings and flown away;
leaving behind empty nests to catch the winter’s coming events.

Strange, how nature’s circadian rhythms bring about change;
but in the winter season of humanity, so much remain the same.
Even in the winter cold, sable blood flows from the rape of justice:
No matter the season, the blind goddess remains a scheming mistress.

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