Prelude to Winter

Summer days are numbered,
I feel it in the air.
The flowers lift their vacant eyes
beneath their tired hair.

The sun that rises further south
and sets just further same,
is just not there as many hours
and nature can’t reclaim.

Thicker fur on kitty cats,
the deer begin to Know,
and gardens find their way to shelves
to ward the coming snow.

I might bethink it sadder still,
death’s Fairchild – winter snow;
just an illusion looking close
as you and I both know.


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About Pam

I love playing with words. That doesn't mean I'm good at it yet, but I hope to improve with time (I've had 53 years so far). Not sure how long it takes. I also love to read poems, but what I can write, and what I like to read doesn't always equate. I love science fiction (the clean stuff), fantasy (see previous parenthetical remark) like Eragon, Lord of The Rings, etc... I also love wonderful stories by George Eliot (which I re-read almost yearly), or even the Gothic novels by Austen and Bronte sisters (which I will probably never re-read). But I could never write that kind of thing. too bad, So here is my tiny contribution to the world of anonymous "literature". Certainly my poems will never come close to Emily Dickinson. But then I leave my house now and then.

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