Winter in a wooded field

Under light and fog, the dawn of winter
In its shadow, the broken images of trees,
The last fingers of leaves clutch and sink
Swallowed by the slow silver stream flow,
The wind and the snow creep softly
Their footsteps on the low, damp ground.

The stream freezes
Crisp and cold,
The snow drifts
White bones of flakes,
The brisk swell of wind
And the dusted woods,
The caw of the crow
In the frosty silence.

Strain on the earth, descending winter
Echoing timber in the waste of woods,
The plank of autumn’s reason broke
And dropped down into the worm hole,
And finished knowing. …
The snow is thick in the bitter air.

Copyright © 09/25/2016 lance sheridan®




4 comments on “Winter in a wooded field

  1. Barbara says:

    Lance when I think the last poem you presented was the best, I get another one that tops the chart – the images in this writing are “unreal” because they’re so great – every line took this reader to the exact spot of the storm to find myself shivering from the cold wind bustling around me – you’re an ace Lance – I do love this so & appreciate every word written.

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