Robert Moses

From when the autumn turns to spring

There is a season found in between

Decaying leaves have made their descent

A crackling sound comes from underfoot

The morning wind is cold and relentless

No more driving with the windows open

And surely no more diving into the ocean

Unless ice flows through your veins

 

From autumn to spring I’m a spectator

The people that pass as the snow falls

Confined in the car that I call home

A personal motorcade of twiddling thumbs

In the forest comes the firing of guns

Then silence confirms the deed is done

One less deer to get caught in headlights

One less companion in the frigid night

 

Reviews

[Deborah Shepard]

sadness beauty