And then a cloud passed, quietly, quietly

And then a cloud passed, quietly, quietly
And the sun rose
And the morning turned to clay
And the crows descended and flew through the gate,
Scolding, mocking,
Flying over dead leaves, disturbing the dust;
And the summer was empty
And the trees were empty-
Unconscious in the rain beat of autumn.

And into the old farm house blew the wind
Through a loosened pane
And the daisies in the garden slept in clay,
Withering summer
And the farmer worked in his clumsy shoes
Digging the earth soil
Waiting for the early snow- it hints of early
The frost is on the briar rose.

And then a cloud passed, quietly, quietly
And the bitter cold, and the bite of cold
And the ragged snow,
Hither between here and the crow stalk
Windless and the winter lightning,
Covers the boughs, covers the early owl
Descending white
Snow ash on the old farmer’s sleeve
(Gliding windless, the wended veil of flakes).

Copyright © 09/03/2016 lance sheridan®

WPNP

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