photo: Golden Hill
In the decent from summer to winter,
Daylight grows shorter,
Shadows grow longer,
And the temperature lowers.
The air and leaves turn crisp.
The sky is dry and piercing blue.
And as the legacy of harvest hangs thick,
like maple syrup.
I think of things less pressing,
yet more important,
As I fall toward winter.
Posted via email from Jon Hall
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1 comments:
I love it when you write poetry. And this one is perfect with this photo you took. Thanks for sharing.
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