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Winter's Smoldered Freedom
Certainly November is lovely
beyond our intuition and expectation...
as it paves the empty roadways
with auburn foilage;
and the gently hissing wind
creates its own cheerful melody,
because frickle imagination
provides the words of a memorable song!
The tireless and wild stallions,
with their astounding presence,
follow the bridlepath though verdant hills...
leading them to a quite pinegrove,
where they can refresh themselves
into a clear, sparkling waterfall!
The familiar sluggishness of an Autmn's day
seems to have the same monotony
of weary streams scurring away
with someone's dreamy mind....
elevating itself to the superb Creation;
as the lonesome writer stages his play
in a tranquil landscape of a hidden town
still untouched by civilization!
Like those massive herds
of butchbirds and scissortails,at dawn
oozing off on rough branches ,
before taking flight to southerns' borders....
to escape winter's smoldered freedom,
not trusting the untrustworthy sky above
when the loudest thunder strikes again!
Beyond the closed window,.
the tearful and lonely widow
will surely die of boredom...
without feeding the yellow canary
that tapped on her open window:
how happy she felt to see him...
his presence diluted her sorrow,
because all she wanted was his company!
Copyright ©
Andrew Crisci
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