The morning, in bright and golden light,
brings an illusion of warmth, the crackling
of yellowed leaves in the solar fire. Yet
what good is this abundance of cold light
when it doesn't find your ivory form, your
shivering flesh, nestled beside mine?
I'm an aged tree that carried few leaves
and cast them all at the first chill wind
that came blowing from the north.
06.10.2023
#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse
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