by L.T. Garvin, expressing the essence of winter for me:
Always something amiss
blue frost sweeping the edge
of a hard north wind
An open wound
Festers in the flutter of consciousness
a patient soul smothered in dark ashes
Slumbering in discontent sleep
On a path spanned
by the assault of seasons
time dated by carbon
On a trail of jagged footprints
a tortured traveler
Sets afoot
in a field of solitude amongst
allotments lined with marble markers
the words now fade to charcoal
That marked the haunted plains
sprinkled over with gold and crimson
discarded leaves drift between spaces
as time unwraps the tragedy
where one day the flowers
will fold their sorrowful blooms
in sweet surrender
I love her poems, Frederick. Thanks for sharing. 🙂
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