The gold-red omens of the frost
Still spin and scrape across the asphalt streets
And come to rest against the playground walls.
The copper light of afternoon
Transforms the town and sets aglow
A yellow house (still hidden from the road).
The flickering aspens line the path,
Where evening slides into an autumn world.
Still spin and scrape across the asphalt streets
And come to rest against the playground walls.
The copper light of afternoon
Transforms the town and sets aglow
A yellow house (still hidden from the road).
The flickering aspens line the path,
Where evening slides into an autumn world.
By Jan Whitt
No comments:
Post a Comment