A Winter's Morning in Kansas
January's trees stand dark and bleak,
stripped of Spring's bud and Summer's leaf,
and Winter's wind rattles bare and dry twigs,
deep crevices quarter newborn Earwhigs.
Lower clouds hang brown and grey.
Higher clouds catch the morning ray
and the silvery light of the coming day.
I sit on my porch watching squirrels at play.
Old age is now...
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