Sterile Winter’s Return

 

Cold the sun

which days now come,

a frozen still breath,

a summer now done.

Barren limbs

widows time,

to watch and listen

a quiet sublime.

Oh, but the promise

of summer’s youth,

is lost among dried

leaves now mute.

No wind, no breeze,

does not remain

as time has come,

winter’s season now reclaimed.

 

©  CMM  2012

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