Another cold morning

 

Dim light

cloud-filtered

grey as dusk swims

a cold ocean

over frosted grass.

Lemon yellow sun hides

among the groves of the south

where butter wouldn’t melt

and the geese sing loud.

Hard earth yields little

but hoofed away the fallen leaves

acorns sit fat as pigs.

Squabbling over scraps

songbirds flit

bright shards

of the broken jar that was summer,

the mirror of spring.

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