The wind blows

The wind blew and blows still,
showering the field with golden leaves,
moaning like a lost train in the unlit dark.

Stove hums in flame tongue,
incensed with wood smoke,
where cats curl.

We talk in soft voices,
unwilling to disturb the humming, flame-tongued air
or the music of the stars.

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.

22 thoughts on “The wind blows”

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