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Sunday, December 07, 2014

A Sad Hollow Song







Freezing yellow sun
Lights up the patches of snow--
December seventh.








Is it winter yet?
It is creeping so slowly
On small frosted paws.







Tree shadows are etched
On the brown telephone pole--
Lights with darkness.



 


Craggy mountain peaks
Glisten in the morning sun:
Roadside detritus.  







Dead brown leaves tremble
In the cold morning breezes.
Bright sun shines through.









From high on the hill
Wind chimes sing to the road
A sad hollow song.









Embraced by shadows
Old house merges into light.
Where is its substance?






The woods are singing
This time almost a whisper--
Trivial gossip?





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