~
vibrant to dormant
in the blink of an eye,
both vegetable beds
lie shrouded in lank
funereal drapes, fog
hangs like soddened
bedsheets above
the last forgotten
brassicas,
blue chimney smoke
circles down to
take a closer look
*
© GRS 11/26
November
"call me not poet, leave that title for others to confer, I write words in rhyme or not and set them free, let the world concur"
