AutumnA Poem by Leslie Philibertfor Carl SharpeAutumn is a frozen church We wait at heavy doors That smell of rust, Not a moon cold enough To be called heartless Or breathclouds of old steam More an estuary of Dumped mist afraid to ice; The taste of wax on your lips; A frame of hair round a Hatted face, our steps as slow As if we must tread water, You are ice and rain and The first crystals and even More than this, beside me.
© 2014 Leslie PhilibertReviews
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Added on September 28, 2014Last Updated on September 28, 2014 AuthorLeslie PhilibertBavaria, GermanyAboutI`m not important. I just want to write a couple of good poems. Just read what I write. That`s enough. more..Writing
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