The vines have gone black
Still wrapped around fence pickets
Mourning summer’s death
Category: poem
Winter is coming.
The cold gets into your bones.
Darkness settles in.
Winter Saturday.
Midday sun casts long shadows.
I have the blinds down.
Dark winter morning
Sky lightens to bruised-black-blue
The sun grudges its warmth
Graduating tomorrow
In black: a mortarboard crow,
Do tell — does this murderess
Profess to shine or just show?
Broadcast From the Brain Radio 
You must be logged in to post a comment.