tagNon-Erotic PoetryOctober Morning

October Morning


On the trees’ periphery
the rooks caw. Cold day
clears slowly, the mist

is lifting. The wood’s floor
is littered with brown:
rotting leaves, last night’s

broken branches, one
dead birch fell right across
the path. Another hour

will see the sun lie
flat on the hard, yellow
maize stubble – autumn’s

most satisfying sight:
a bright illusion of gold
through the dark trees.

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bydemure101© 2 comments/ 1548 views/ 0 favorites

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