Go south seventy kilometers
and the deciduous trees
have more of their withered
leaves,
two weeks worth,
perhaps,
of leaves,
from gold
to green,
and come back
home
to find the branches
empty,
except
the still young oak
on the yard,
the one
you've watched
grow
for fourty years,
holds fast its own
for them to fall
on late winter's snows.
28.-29.10.2025
Poem #Poem Poems #Poems Poetry #Poetry Verse #Verse Verses #Verses
Ei kommentteja:
Lähetä kommentti