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by Peter Humphreys

Like witches'
brooms
standing
row
upon
row
against
heaven,
the distant
trees
cut
sinister
silhouettes
blackening
the
dawning
sky.

Slowly,
almost
imperceptibly,
the colours
come,
the gold
and
purple
of Autumn,
the
hazel
of
your
eyes,
the gentlest
blue
of
sky.

Across
the moor,
the mist
still
lingers
low
and
swirling
in the
faltering
breeze.

I look
down
as
our feet
sink
into
the bog,
the earth.

A raven startles.

We
stagger
on.

12/12/2005

Posted on 12/12/2005
Copyright © 2024 Peter Humphreys

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 12/12/05 at 05:37 PM

Struggling on toward a new day, calling attention to soft colours...I see some peace and hope amidst the fleeing night. Beautiful, Peter. Well penned.

Posted by Tom Goss on 12/13/05 at 06:38 PM

A gorgeous vertical journey with a rewarding ending.

Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 12/17/05 at 03:58 PM

a haunting landscape...I could not help but travel with it. ::: mesmerizing ::: —JiLL

Posted by Delilah Coyne on 03/18/06 at 02:18 AM

Wow. What an effective use of imagery. The first stanza is especially strong and vivid. Excellent piece.

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