Morning
Encroaches
In drabness
Of Winter light;
Ashen earth,
Leaden sky,
Bleached moon
Drifting high.

Foggy shreds
Wax pewter,
Prussian-blue
The ridge;
Rimy weeds
Blanche ochre,
Sepia
The bridge.

But heedless
Of the pallid blush,
Coldness
Of this eye
Mourns the loss
Of Silver
And wraiths
That Golds belie.

01/17/2003

Posted on 01/18/2003
Copyright © 2024 Leonard M Hawkes