A few flakes in the air. A gray squirrel wanders through the lilac branches, scattering a pair of juncos. The squeaky calls of finches.
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A few flakes in the air. A gray squirrel wanders through the lilac branches, scattering a pair of juncos. The squeaky calls of finches.
Comments are closed.
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Season of red and gold,
season of evergreen and silver.
Season of honey and clove,
season of lit tapers.
Throw more wood on the fire
that it might burn more fiercely.
The wheel is still turning, my love;
but know that it returns.
A few flakes float through the air.
A gray squirrel wanders through the lilac branches.
~ Luisa A. Igloria
12 25 2010
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Great use of those lines as an ending. I am impressed that you made such a resonant poem out of such run-of-the-mill material.
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Merry Christmas to you and yours, Dave. And thank you for letting me play on your Morning Porch.
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And to you, Luisa. Thanks for playing! I’m thinking I will wait until tomorrow to post this one at Via Negativa — there are just so few people online today. Readership is a third of what it normally is.