those little habits
a thumb rubbing a finger
seasons rolling on
those little habits
a thumb rubbing a finger
seasons rolling on
winter trees ablaze
branches stark on flaming sky
one of nature’s tricks
a casement window
framing its panes sparkling frost
melting in the sun
specious-looking sun
promising an early spring
the faintest pink blush
the honking of geese
sharp arrows flying southward
unseasonably
the elm’s signature
fine-cut branches sctratched against
a pale winter sky
wet tyres squishing past
the dim light of a dark day
the warmth of this bed
such pretty colours
in the morning sky fading
already to grey
I dream so I write ..
“Wings are an illusive notion. Some may possess them, but they are not very visible, and as for me, there isn’t the least sign of a feather.” -Amy Carmichael
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