The delights of autumn,
the cats shivering and the birds
as silence as a morning morgue, the winds
that blows you backward and coldness
that knit deep into your dry skin,
the gladness of ones face that lits
bright when the kettle hosses for
a cup of tea,
the idle strenth to endure nothing
and the biterness of any singles
reap and the wet road denying
your fashion grace.
more of the desperate
feelings to cover all and the dry lips
smothering miracle with one heaven’s call,
as auntmn would not help but show
no delight to all being not
even merely to all naked frost.


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Cory Garcia
plus de 6 ans


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