Sunday sunshine

 

Autumn

is hard with such

beauty, gold-leafed and flame

hacked red and bloody. Feathers fall,

cooling.

Is there not enough useless death

that soft fur, sleek feather

should lie cold, spring

barren?

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

17 thoughts on “Sunday sunshine”

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