Tuesday, 19 November 2013

Crouching Winter

After the frost moon hail falls.
Cells of ice hold tight
On the weathered planks of the pallet table.
The sun wakes up cold, splashes watery light.
Leaf by leaf colour blows from trees.
There's a perceptible breath of winter:
It pads closer: a thing luxuriant
Stark, sparkling, perilous.






















2 comments:

Thank you for reading my words- my chance to read yours here: